A Little Bit of Normal
by Sunshine170
Summary: "In some alternate universe there is a version of us who have stupid boring jobs and perfectly normal lives and their biggest concern is probably whether they should go for the sedan or the minivan. But we're not those people and we can't help being the being the people that we are."
1. Chapter 1

For the umpteenth time since last night, Olivia finds her hand absently drifting to her middle, feeling the unfamiliar spongy flatness that has replaced the earlier taut swell of her belly, and she feels a conflicted sense of bittersweet emotion.

Her baby no longer thrives inside of her, being nurtured and sheltered in her protective womb, connected to her in in an incomparable bond, where she's all hers. A little bit Peter's too, but mostly just hers.

She now has an existence outside of her. She's six pounds and eight ounces of flesh and blood and life and her father's eyes and simply perfect.

And in equal parts, Olivia is overjoyed and terrified. Overjoyed that can she can finally hold and feel the tangible proof of the love that she shares with Peter, and terrified that she can't protect her from this all too cruel universe.

She lets her self day-dream, slipping for a few precious moments into an idyllic future of picturesque domesticity , of ballet and riding lessons, and family picnics that they would have on the weekends, of taking her to the park and teaching her to pump her legs on the swing set, and helping her with homework, ( not that she would really need it given her prodigious Bishop lineage ), of Christmas mornings where she'd sit back with Peter on the couch, nursing a cup of cocoa and watch their daughter's eyes light up as she unwrapped her presents.

"I hope she grows up to be just like you," she hears Peter whisper breaking through her thoughts; his gaze drifting towards the clear glass of the crib their daughter lay in. He's lying in the cramped hospital bed with her, and looks about as exhausted as she feels and yet she's never quite seen him look so at peace, not a trace of the underlying shiftiness that has always lurked beneath his eyes.

"You mean become consumed with a job that could drive her clinically insane and then take up with a conman who was effectively erased from this timeline and have his love child? Yeah, sounds like every parent's dream." Olivia says her voice tinged with a hint of amusement, as her gaze follows his to the sleeping infant by their bedside, her lips curving into a smile that she can't quite help.

Peter laughs at that, a quiet chuckle, " Former conman," he corrects her, " I've had to update my LinkedIn profile to state my current occupation as saving the world, after the last four years or so."

It's intended to be a joke but Peter sees a shadow of anxiety set into her eyes at those words, like as if a dark cloud has descended upon the halo of happiness that had surrounded her not a second ago. Even as she smiles, it doesn't reach her eyes.

She stays quiet for a couple of moments, as if in contemplation before she speaks again, "You know despite everything, I don't think that what we have is anything short of perfect, you know that right." Her voice trembles ever so slightly as she absently brings up her hand to her chest, fisting the soft grey material of his Henley.

"Yeah, I know," he brushes an errant strand of hair to look into her face, seeing the unmistakable signs of fear and when she looks up to his meet his gaze, he sees in them a dread that he's seen before only in the most extenuating of circumstances.

"But I don't want any of this for her, Peter," she almost whispers, partly because talking in hushed tones has become their default setting since last night and partly because she can't help it. She nods her head furiously, as if anxious that he would read her words wrong in some way.

"I don't want this life for her. I don't want her to be in so much danger on a regular basis. I don't want her to be in so much physical and emotional pain like it were a normal thing…"

And now she's closed her eyes and it's like she's talking to herself, "and I don't want her to find the love of her life and then have it simply vanish from the face of the earth and be left with a hole in her heart. I can't bear the thought of her having to go through something like that."

Peter winces at that admission, even while knowing she doesn't mean to hurt him. Because he knows exactly the tally of hurt and pain he has caused her, time after time- when he left her without so much as a goodbye for another universe, or betrayed her with another version of herself, or had simply ceased to exist, or had callously rejected her when she was _begging_ him to look into her eyes and recognize the truth of her.

He is acutely aware of the monumental price she has paid for being in love with him and part of him is still in awe of her, for having held on to that love despite it all, for having willed him back into existence and then letting herself be overwritten by memories of a different past.

A lesser human being would have long succumbed to so much agony by now.

But Olivia is extraordinary in so many ways and Peter realizes he needs to never forget that. Even when they can have this moment of utterly and absurd normalcy and just be new parents thinking aloud about their child's future, he cannot forget everything that it has taken them to get here, to get to this point when he can stare in his daughter's beautiful blue eyes and know without a doubt that it was all worth it.

So he pulls her close to reassure her, even though he shares every one of her anxieties and if he could be true to his cynical nature, almost knows with miserable certainty that the chances of their daughter being untainted by the cluster fuck of craziness that pervades their lives are laughably remote.

"We'll make sure that she never has to go through something like that then," he says forcing an optimism that he's not sure he feels, one that he knows she might just see through. So he opts for lighter way out,

"Plus you know honey, we did close the bridge to the other side, so the chances of Etta finding the love of her life in a parallel universe and being entangled in an inter-dimensional version of Romeo and Juliet are slim wouldn't you say?"

That earns him a small laugh and he sees just a little bit of the fear disappear from her green irises, so he presses on with a teasing grin. "And you know, no offense Liv, but frankly, I hope she has better sense than to fall for a smart mouthed jackass with a criminal past."

Olivia knows this game well; it's what they do when things get so painfully real that it hurts to do anything but banter. She brings up the hand that isn't clinging to his shirt up to his chin, running her fingers through the stubble that looks even more unruly than usual, not having been tended to in the past couple of days.

"Well you know what they say about girls dating their dads," she says playfully, almost wanting to laugh at the look of deep worry that sets into his face at that. The one that said_, like forget about the end of the world, my daughter could actually end up liking a rake. _

"Is it too soon to discuss dating rules?" he asks, his face so serious that she can't help but burst out laughing into his chest, feeling an unexpected flood of relief wash over her at his grave question

_Maybe they could never really have normal, but at least they could have moments like this. _

"Yeah… let's worry about diapers and midnight feedings for now shall we," she absently pats his chest, closing her eyes as she begins to feel the tug of exhaustion pulling at her. And she can't help thinking as the tiredness overwhelms her quickly how much she actually wants Etta to be like him – have his dry sense of humor or his ability to not carry burdens forever, for her to inherit his brilliant mind and his irresistible charm, for her to have the diverse experiences that he has had and travel the world and meet exciting people.

"I hope she grows up to be just like you," she murmurs before sleep overcomes her.


	2. Chapter 2

The house is completely dark when Peter gets back home. He doesn't bother turning a light on as he lets himself in, tracing a weary and familiar path up the stairs as he makes his way to the bedroom.

Olivia's in bed and though its dark and he can't see her face, he doesn't believe for a second that she's actually asleep. He decides not to confirm his theory however, sitting on his side of the bed and instead makes quick work of undressing. He discards his jeans on the floor and then proceeds to strip his coat and shirt off and, vaguely surprised as his hands come in contact with damp patches of fabric.

A violent shudder passes through his body as he brings the shirt up to his nose, and inhales deeply, breathing in the mingled scents of sage and lavender and human tears from when his daughter had spent all night crying into his chest and holding on so tightly to him that the fragrance of her shampoo had bled through into his clothing, and he has to clench his jaws together so furiously that his teeth gnash against each other and he barely gets through the urge to cry.

He can feel the indentations that her tiny nails have left on the back of his neck as she had dug into his skin, desperately holding on, as he had attempted to peel her of his person, crying and fighting back with every ounce of strength her little body could muster.

* * *

_Peter had never known his daughter to throw a single tantrum in all of her four years. She had always been much too clever for that, choosing willful manipulation through her charms over messy and loud protest any day. "She gets that from you," Olivia had said when Peter had remarked on Etta's ability to pretty much get her way with everything and everybody. _

_"And of course it doesn't help that all she has to do is look at you and you'll bend over backwards to do her bidding." She had joked, but her voice betraying a hint of worry at his pathological inability to deny her anything. _

_Which is why he hadn't quite known how to handle Etta when she had uncharacteristically wailed and trashed against him as he had tried to put her down, kicking and screaming like the many kids he had seen at airports and parks, as anxious and slightly frazzled parents attempted to quiet them down, always thankful that he was not one of them. _

_"Stop it honey, please…" He had pleaded with her unable to bear her distress, futilely attempting to calm her down as she cried in big breathy gulps, struggling for oxygen, her petite frame shaking in his arms but still stubbornly holding on almost like she was trying to weld herself to his body. _

_"It's okay baby, I am not going away. Just please stop crying okay," He had finally said unable to take it anymore. It was a terrible lie but he couldn't help it, worried that she would give herself a panic attack if he didn't get her to stop. He stopped fighting her steely grip around his neck and settled her into his lap and rocked her gently, rubbing her back till she wasn't struggling to breathe anymore and murmured soft words of comfort into her hair and for a few moments, as he reveled in that feeling he almost forgot what he was about to do. _

_"You promise?"_

_"I promise…"-_

_"Peter..." Nina had called out from behind him after what seemed like an eternity had passed, her voice understanding but betraying her anxiety. "We have to leave…soon. It's not safe here. " She had been beyond patient for the past hour as Peter had unsuccessfully tried to get Etta to get into the car that was to take them both to an undisclosed location, where she could be hidden and kept safe. She understood how difficult it was for him to do this but she also knew she had to be the voice of reason if they were going to successfully pull this off. _

_"I know…" his throat constricted, " Just… give me a few moments, please..." he said and then tilted Etta's face , which was buried in his chest, bringing up to his gaze, brushing the damp blond locks of her face and as their identical eyes met, he saw her face change with an understanding. Without words she seemed to know that she wouldn't get her way this time around._

_"Etta…" her name came out like a plea, almost a prayer… and he wanted to tell her so much, explain so much, but couldn't when he saw the look of comprehension on her face._

_"You're leaving me aren't you daddy?" It wasn't an accusation, but the way her eyes looked at him, he knew it was just that. For the first time, he saw in his daughter's eyes the pain of betrayal and to know he had caused it, tore at his insides._

_"I have to honey, you'll understand someday, I promise," He had whispered back, still unable to tear himself from her gaze which seemed to seeing into the very depths of his soul. "I love you more than you'll ever know." He told her, running his hands desperately through her hair, trying to register everything he could about her for one last time…_

_… before he gave her up to some unknown future. _

_"I love you too daddy," she said quietly, without much emotion. He saw a placid almost catatonic calm overcoming her in the next few moments as she let her hands unclasp from behind his neck, slipping away from him in mind and body, all resistance gone, seemingly resigned to whatever fate her father had forsaken her to._

* * *

And in the end that's what really breaks his heart, even more than the animated shrieking and the violent desperation with which she had fought his decision to leave her behind.

No, it's the way she finally crumples like a paper doll, going so limp in his arms that he has to consciously listen for her heartbeat just to be reminded that she's alive and breathing. It's in the way she remains unresponsive as he belts her into her car seat, and he's not even sure she's aware of anything anymore, as he runs her hands over her smooth cheek, trying to mouth words of assurance that he's not even sure she's processing, not able to resist the urge to kiss her just one more time that Peter remembers thinking that anything would be a welcome respite from having to see his child like this…so lifeless.

"She'll be fine," Nina says squeezing his shoulder, fighting back tears as she gets into the car herself. Peter doesn't say anything, nodding with a stormy expression on his face that doesn't come close to displaying anything that he feels in that moment.

"She tends to kick off her blankets in the middle of night," he swallows painfully as the random thought occurs to him. "Make sure you tell," he breathes deeply still grappling over the fact that some stranger he doesn't even know will have custody over the precious life he had created with the woman he loved, "…whoever to tuck her in tight."

"I will… she'll be taken care of Peter. I promise." And she starts the car and Peter has this insane urge to tell her to stop, to abandon this ridiculous plan and yank Etta out of that car and just take her back home with him. And maybe tomorrow, they could stay up in bed and watch cartoons all day long and tonight will have been nothing more than a bad dream.

But all he does is stand there as the car revs up and speeds away, standing there for a long time after the vehicle is out of sight.

* * *

"Is it done?" a soft voice breaks through the reverie of his thoughts and he realizes that it's Olivia and he turns around to where she's lying still. She's in fact awake even though her back is still turned to him.

"Yeah," he whispers hoarsely, cringing at the harsh sob that he gets in response, but not quite daring to go to her aid just yet.

In all the years he has known her; it's the only time he has seen Olivia run away from a situation, and he knows that there is scant hope for the future when the strongest person he has ever known couldn't bring herself to face the hardest decision they've had to make.

_"I can't," she had pleaded with him, refusing steadfastly to go with him tonight, her eyes a stormy green as tears flowed from them freely. "I can't say goodbye to her. Please don't make me," She had asked him in childlike words, words that Etta would use... and Peter had simply nodded, kissed her gently and left it at that._

And even though he had wanted her by his side tonight, wanted more than anything to have her strength to fall back on as he left their daughter behind, he can't help thinking that it's a small mercy she wasn't there after all. Because he knows the intense bond they share, Etta and Olivia, the way they amplify each other's emotions to a point where they often feel one and the same thing and while over the years, Olivia had learned to efficiently control her feelings to spare her daughter from being overwhelmed as she could at times , there's really no way she could have protected their daughter tonight from the onslaught of her pain and guilt

"I felt her," she's saying now, her voice shaky and she's still not looking at him but Peter can sense every expression her face is taking on, her silhouette further curling into herself and away from him. "I felt everything Peter. She was in so much pain and she was so scared," She chokes out and Peter almost wants to punch his fist through a wall if it'll stop the rage coursing through him at this unspeakable cruelty the universe has served them.

And then she finally turns to him and he thinks he'll simply die, cease to exist when he sees the look of indescribable aguish written all over her face, completely devoid of color.

"And the worst part is we're responsible," she continues, closing her eyes, trying to stem the flow of tears before she opens them again.

"We did this to her. We brought her into this world and then we abandoned her. We've caused her so much suffering, Peter and I felt every bit of it. What kind of parents would do this to their own child?"

"Olivia…"

"I am responsible for this," she's telling him now, her voice laced with self- disgust, recoiling violently from the hand he tries to lay on her cheek.

"Olivia..."

"I did this to her. I am the reason she has these abilities and her life is in danger because of that. It's my fault she has to go through all this. It's all my fault," she's hugging herself and crying so hard now and Peter fees like he that he'll never feel as humanely worthless as he does in that moment.

"I am so sorry Peter. I am sorry I did this to her, to us… I am sorry baby... I am sorry…" she keeps repeating the broken apology over and over….

"Olivia…" he takes her name again, not sure how he can help her through the private hell she's putting herself through.

"Liv, please… it's not your fault. None of this is." He says uselessly, not sure if any words can console her tonight.

Not sure if the both of them can even survive tonight.

So he does the only thing he can think of and lies next to her and pulls her into a frighteningly close embrace, despite her resistance and lets her cry into his chest, just like his daughter had not that long ago.

He feels her tears fall against him all night and even as if he thinks, there can't be suffering worse than this, he refuses to let himself cry, to allow himself that luxury.

Because if he gives into the weakness and catharsis that tears can bring, his anger will have weakened and he can't have that. He needs all the rage he can muster to drive him against _them_ if he has to piece his family back together, no matter how long it takes.

_What kind of parents would do this to their own child? _

_The kind who didn't have a choice Liv… he thinks to himself _


	3. Chapter 3

It's a Sunday, a day they always strive to keep normal, always work free and after years of having more than proved her worth to the agency, Olivia can now confidently demand that they respect her need to keep this one day sacrosanct, devoted to the needs of her family and not to the twisted horrors of scientists who liked to play God.

The note on their bedside calendar made by her husband weeks ago informs her they were supposed to be at the Boston's Children's Museum today, a favorite haunt of theirs. Peter loved to take Etta to the museum where he would spend hours with her at different exhibits, telling her stories about the places he'd been to or explaining to her some phenomena of science, delighting in the way her bright young mind quickly and effortlessly engaged with things, advanced as she was for her age. They usually stopped for dinner at Damiano's later and Etta would always, _alway_s fall asleep in the car before they got home.

But there's no day trip to make today, no Etta to wake up to in the morning when her daughter invariably clambers into their bed at the hint of sunrise and snuggles up to her father as the two of them laugh away at Sponge Bob Square Pants on the TV. No Etta to make blueberry pancakes for, or chase after, or hold and love and love some more.

No Etta…

* * *

_ "I can't say goodbye to her. Please don't make me," _

_She hates herself in that moment, hates herself for being so weak and giving into a cowardice that was so unlike her and she can't even bring herself to look Peter in the eye, fearing that she would see them reflect the disappointment that she feels towards herself. But all he does is pull her into a gentle, reassuring kiss._

_"It's fine Liv, you don't have to come..." and they leave it at that._

* * *

More than a month has passed since that night and they're trying desperately to go on like nothing's changed. Like taking every breath and forcing herself to do the same in the next moment isn't proving to be so damn difficult.

But she can feel herself changing with every day that passes, feels herself losing hold over the person she's evolved into in the last five years and withdrawing into the person she was before Peter broke into her existence and invaded her memories with promises of a better self, making her whole and fulfilled in a way she had never imagined she could be.

Like someone who hadn't let go off the possibility of love...

Peter's been so patient with her, exceedingly so, even as fights his own demons, he makes sure to watch over her, takes constant care of her in those first few days when she can't even remember to eat or drink or live… and comforts her in every which way he can think of, through words and gestures and physical contact, even when she offers absolutely nothing in exchange.

She's not sure that she deserves such understanding from this man. After all, he of all people has more than a right to be angry at her. In fact he should be fuming.

This is all her fault really.

"What are you thinking?" he asks her in a knowing tone as he helps her sort and fold through the large pile of clean laundry they have finally got around doing and she realizes she has let her thoughts show plainly on her face. He's been trying so hard to get her to talk to him, not about things that really mattered but simply words that could fill the space that keeps growing between them with every night they spend sleeping (though not really sleeping) turned away from each other. Words that don't even have to mean anything. But she finds even the normal routine of conversation too trying to engage in anything beyond a yes or no and an occasional sentence to elaborate on either of the two.

Her heart constricts painfully as her gaze falls on the garment that she has in her hands- a tiny baby Gap sweater that she remembers buying at a sale for Etta a few months ago and she stares at the garment like it could transport her back to that moment, when her biggest concern was how fast her daughter seemed to grow out of the expensive clothes she kept buying for her even as she couldn't help smiling over how adorable she looked in it, as Etta paraded and twirled around obligingly for her mother in the trial room.

_"Don't I look pretty mommy? Can we get it..pleaseee?" Etta had smiled at her and made her eyes even bigger and bluer if possible, executing her words and actions in a smooth, almost practiced move that Olivia couldn't help but laugh as she scooped her up into her arm and hugged her close, "You're really your father's daughter aren't you, my little con-artist." _

Snapping back from the warmth of those memories, she offers Peter a tight humorless smile deciding to bite after all " I am thinking we shouldn't have been naïve enough to think we could have anything this perfect and beautiful and not have it taken away from us. After all that is our thing isn't it. Every time we take two steps forward towards anything that even resembles happiness, something else comes along and throws us ten steps behind."

"Liv…" Peter says gently, but she presses on, so angry at herself now that she can barely stop her hands from trembling as she folds the sweater, and she feels the need to blame, something, anything that would help make sense of how this could have happened.

This shouldn't have happened, none of it should have. They should have just been any other set of parents, discussing schooling options for when the next year came and fighting over who had to drive Etta to her Ballet lesson.

But it did happen, it happened to them because of who they are, who _she_ is.

"I am thinking this would have never happened if you had just found yourself some normal woman, who maybe didn't make things move with her mind, to fall in love with and had a child with her instead of someone whose body has been experimented upon like a lab animal."

And Peter's face turns deeply troubled at that, but she doesn't stop, feeling the numbness of lashing out at herself too good, lashing out at him too soothing to not continue, she wants to feel like she can control something, even if it's just the ability to further fracture their already fragile relationship.

"I am thinking why anyone who claims to be as smart as you, genius IQ or not, would not have enough sense to stay away from someone as damaged as me."

"Olivia…" his voice is dangerously tight now and she doesn't miss the shift to her full name and can sense the aggravation in every fiber of his body, but she can't help herself. She meets his gaze squarely, seeing the stormy blue of his eyes and she can tell he's angered by the things she's saying but she keeps at it, deriving some sadomasochistic pleasure out of doing this…punishing herself and trying to get him to see her as undeserving of his compassion or kindness.

"Tell me Peter, what it is exactly about me that you find so damn irresistible? Is it my emotional ineptitude that is so appealing to you, or my knack for hurting people who get close to me, or is it just your twisted need to work on science projects extending to your romantic life. Did you just wake up one day and decide that unattached sex with exciting women was not fun anymore and you thought it might be something different to fuck your cold and broken partner?"

And for a moment there's a deafening silence, as Peter looks at her incredulously with an expression of hurt that would have decimated her to a fraction of her being if she would let it affect her. But she simply looks back at him, challenging him, almost taunting him to respond in kind, inviting him to inflict upon her a similar hurt too, and for a second, she thinks he just might.

"Honey, are you listening to the things you're saying?" he asks instead, very slowly and measuredly, as if he were weighing each word before he utters it. His voice has turned very quiet and she knows he's resisting every urge to not lose it, and yet despite it all, she can still note the underlying concern which laces his question, concern essentially for her wellbeing.

And she feels the inexplicable need to shatter the absurd lengths of his patience, before she can be weak and give over to the roles they have fallen into in the past few days, her of needing comfort and him of extending it without question.

He makes as if to bring a hand to her cheek, and so she goes in for the kill…

"Or maybe you just felt sorry because you knocked me up and felt you had to stay with me because we have a child together …"

And in that second, she might have as well thrust a knife in his gut as Peter violently recoils from her, his hand dropping mid-air, flinching like he's been physically slapped.

"Coz you know honey," she utters the term of endearment he had used not a moment ago, with fake sweetness, "you don't need to do that anymore. We don't have a daughter anymore, not really. So if you feel like you want to run to Baghdad or some tropical island the observers haven't found, don't feel like you have to check with me beforehand."

And he's already gone through the door without a single word or even a look her way, before she gets the end of that sentence out, before she even realizes what she has just done to him.

Olivia slumps to the ground in slow defeat, still clutching the mint green sweater and thinking to herself how magnificent a job she's done of pushing away the only anchor to reality who's been keeping her from going insane.

* * *

As Olivia numbly goes on with her day, pointlessly cleaning and rearranging around the house, taking care of housekeeping in a way she hasn't in months, making food no one will eat, and changing linens no one sleeps on, she can't help thinking he may just never come back to her.

Not after the cruel words she had spat out at him so callously, not after the way she has acted towards him ever since they lost their daughter that night to an uncertain future, without any feeling or consideration for his loss, without even the slightest acknowledgment of his own pain or an attempt to reciprocate just a portion of the understanding and comfort he has so tirelessly devoted to her.

She really doesn't deserve him, she never did.

And maybe it's a good thing if he doesn't come back to her. After all that's what she wanted right. Etta was gone —taken away forcibly - from their lives and there was nothing quite that concrete that bound Peter to her anymore. Their marriage had always been more of an afterthought, entered into primarily for the sake of their daughter, to make sure she would have the legal securities that came from her parents being in wedlock.

Back then, it had mattered so little whether there was a ring on her finger or not because she had thought a relationship that could test the limits of time, space and dimension surely didn't need legal or societal sanction to make it anymore 'real' or 'true'.

And now, she thinks that the past five years of her life have been nothing more than a dream, a fantasy she had deluded herself into believing was true, and she can't help herself from feeling the metal of her wedding ring to reassure herself.

After all, deep down she knows there can't be happy endings for her.

So maybe it's a good thing if Peter doesn't come back, she tells herself again. After all, he's not the one who needs to fight the observers. This has never really been his fight, just the one she had forced him into taking part in. Like the day she had dragged him back to Boston all the way from Iraq_. He_ wasn't the one struck with an incurable hero complex, trying to right every imaginary wrong in the world. _He_ wasn't the one whose mind yielded powers that he doesn't understand, powers no average human being should be saddled with.

Olivia has no choice but to be who she has always been, who she was meant to be, her fate written to fit a saga of sacrifice long ago, but Peter…

No… Peter Bishop doesn't _have_ to be husband to Olivia Dunham as they live out the rest of their life sentence on this doomed planet , thinking about all the _what ifs_ and _should have beens_ that now replace what were once happy dreams for the future.

He still has much of his life ahead of him and if she knows his potential, she knows he can do anything he feels like, be anyone he wants to be in any damn place he pleases, observers or no observers.

Just as long as he wasn't tied to her…

Maybe he'll even find someone who can actually make him happy and maybe he could even have a family of his own again… just not with her… she thinks, her stomach almost hollowing out at the thought of that. But she wills herself to be strong, because all she really wants is to restore his contentment.

The contentment that's lost now because of her, because of who she is and how that affects their daughter.

She'll be fine on her own, she tells her self brokenly, just fine...

* * *

It's several hours later and Olivia's out in the backyard porch, staring into the inky night when she hears the familiar sound of his footfall behind her and she murmurs a quiet prayer of thanks that he did choose to return after all.

At least for today…

She can feel his gaze on her back, watching her as he surely must be, standing at the doorway, contemplating if he wants to get into this right now and she inadvertently shivers.

She hears footsteps retreating into the house and thinks he must have decided against it. But as usual, even after knowing him for a decade, Peter finds a way to surprise her in a way that only he can.

"It's cold…" he says from behind her as he drapes a blanket over her figure.

She pulls at his offering, wrapping it around herself tightly, reveling in the warmth of the soft fabric, reveling in the warmth that comes from his proximity to her, thinking how this innocuous gesture makes her want to cry more than anything else today and she wishes he could maybe leave her be so that she can do just that.

But he doesn't leave. He simply takes a seat next to her on the bench and in the yellow softness of that porch light, where his face is partly shadows; she can see the stress screaming from every pore of his body.

"Remember when we camped out here. last summer," He says absently looking at nothing and everything in his line of sight.

And she remembers, remembers being cozily cramped up together in a zip up tent that was clearly not meant to house three people, let alone people as tall as Peter and herself, remembers elbows and knees knocking against one another as the both of them had tried in vain to make some room for themselves, laughing absurdly over their daughter's head as she slept soundly sandwiched between them with the typical and reckless abandon of all toddlers, her one leg shoved into Peter's chest and her little arm funneling into Olivia's neck.

_"Would you hate me too much if I went back in to the house and got some actual sleep? I have a meeting in the morning, Peter." She had said after about three hours of trying to get into a comfortable position and failing._

_"I would so hate you if you did that. Stay put Dunham, you're not going anywhere," he had said and then extended his long arm wrapping both Etta and her into a loose embrace, his fingers latching onto her waist._

"I am sorry about the things I said…earlier" she says extricating herself from memories that are becoming increasingly painful to relive.

He doesn't say anything, still looking at the lawn in front of them, like he was trying to make something materialize there out of thin air.

"It was very unkind of me and you don't deserve it," she continued with her apology, feeling the woodenness of her own words, the ones that she's been preparing in her head for when…if he came back, his silence actually making it easier on her to get them out.

"But I also think there's some truth there… you know. I meant it when I said you don't have to stay with me if it doesn't make you happy anymore. I know I am no longer capable of offering you anything that can make this relationship worthwhile for you and I really don't want you to be unhappy."

She sees the way his jaw clench tightly and even though he's not still not looking at her, she knows him too well to realize when he's truly angry, even more than he was earlier today, when she was hurling hurtful words at him.

"I think maybe you should let me be the judge of what makes this relationship worthwhile to me don't you think?" He asks her in a voice so devoid and full of emotion in the same time and Olivia finds herself stunned by the harsh logic, the calculated yet naked truth of his words.

"Because if you think you can purposely drive me away because_ you've_ suddenly decided that I've had enough of this, then I am sorry to disappoint you sweetheart, but that's not the way it works." He almost laughs and Olivia thinks it's the saddest thing she's ever heard.

He turns to her and sees the steely resolve in his eyes, lending them a deeper shade of blue, and he's speaking to her in slow and measured tones, like as if explaining something of exceptional simplicity but may seem complicated, like to a child "You asked me today why I am with you and I am telling you this because I never want you to _ever _question that again. It's not because I think you're some project I can fix, or because I want to indulge myself in some suburban fantasy, and as much as I love her, it's not because of Etta."

He brings her palms to cup her face and she feels like he'll just steal her soul by looking at her that way. "The reason… the only reason I am with you is because I belong with you."

"Peter…" she whispers his name like a prayer, wanting so much to latch on to the strength of his words.

"I've never needed any other reason," his fingers are brushing against her cheek in a familiar move, and his voice is gentler, bordering on a whisper. "And I'll never want any life or future that doesn't include you; despite whatever you've deluded yourself into believing."

His hands drop abruptly and the next words that come from him, knot her insides up so tightly, that she can't breathe and he's still smiling in that sad way that breaks her broken heart ever so more.

"You know if for any reason, reasons that hopefully don't border on the extreme and are the garden marital variety like falling out of love or growing disconnected or some View like rubbish, you find yourself not wanting to be with me than that's fine and it's something we should definitely talk about… but if you're trying to push me away out of some misguided notion that I am better off without you than I am afraid that decision is really not up to you Liv."

"Oh God Peter, I could never…" she swallows, finding the words too painful to say, "I could never fall out of love with you." She nods her head furiously, knowing that to be one everlasting truth of her life.

"Then how could think even for a second that I could?" he asks her, like it's that simple really and it's the final straw and she simply collapses into his arms, not knowing what else she can do and as he's running his fingers soothingly into her hair, she whispers his name desperately, not holding back the hot tears anymore, tears that she hasn't shed since that night, when she had done nothing but that, cried till her very core ran dry and had nothing left to offer, as her eyes kept coming up empty and the urge to shed tears wouldn't go away.

"We've lost so much Peter... and it just feels like we just lose more every day." she says brokenly, clinging to him like he's the last vestige of her strength, silently thanking a higher being, if one exists for bringing him back to her this night.

"We haven't lost everything yet, Liv" he counters her, his own voice thick with emotion and then he says again with more conviction, urging her to believe in his words, in him.

"Not as long as we have each other."


	4. Chapter 4

On her fifteenth birthday, Nina gives Etta the best gift, she's ever received.

Hidden in a fading paper envelope, it's not the fanciest of presents she's gotten from her extremely wealthy guardian and it's certainly not as valuable as the beautiful watch that she wears on her wrist, also a present from Nina for her special day, but the smudgy silver key and the address written on a post-it that she finds in the envelope doesn't come with a discernible price tag.

It means more than any material thing she will ever have possession of.

It's a key that unlocks memories…

"You have to promise me that you won't go there often, Etta and never without telling me, do you understand?" Nina asks and Etta finds herself unable to speak and she simply nods evasively, not meeting her in the eye, knowing with certainty that she won't follow through on that promise. She's found very early on that following orders doesn't come easily to her, that there is something fundamentally ingrained within her that rebels at being told what to do.

"Etta listen to me," Nina calls to her gently, and she finally looks up to meet the older woman's gaze that betrays the worry that she has tried so hard to hide in the last ten years, just as she's familiar with Etta's streak of disobedience, "Your parents risked everything to protect you and keep you safe, and being reckless with your life would cheapen their sacrifice. If you won't do it for me you'll at least do it for them."

And Etta simply hugs her, thankful for the one person in her life whom she can share any semblance of affection with. Even if it's always in secret and behind closed doors where they can acknowledge the bond that connects them.

"I'll be careful, I promise." She says sincerely.

It's as nondescript as any other suburban house in that lane, nothing even remotely out of the ordinary, not even an overgrown lawn that could draw the ire and attention of the neighbors, possibly having to do with the fact that on paper, it exists as a Massive Dynamic property, written off as a sub-contracted research- facility and is kept prim on the outside so that no one would ever think of viewing it with suspicion.

And the first time she hears the lock unclick at the press of the key, she feels like a more magical place couldn't possibly exist.

In a generosity that Etta often forgets she is capable of, Nina has been saving this for her, keeping it untarnished, so that she may have someplace to call home.

This slightly worn red brick two-storied building, a set of four walls, a roof and a yard is nothing like the extremely chic but completely interchangeable steel and glass apartments that she lives in, changing residences and cities , trading one high-rise for another , one skyline view for the next, one set of bodyguards/fake parents for another, year after year.

But the warmth that envelopes her in this place is nothing like she's ever experienced before or has experienced and has forgotten and she loses herself for hours, touching and feeling, taking in every nook of perfection that her parents had crafted together to make this home their sanctuary, their refuge from the tyrannical and absurd world they dealt with every day.

She comes back every year on her birthday to the house…her home. To savor this untainted haven where she had felt so safe and protected and loved. It becomes her private ritual of both celebration and mourning. There were so many kids her age who had lost one parent or both to the resistance, to loyalist attacks, to simply collateral damage.

Those kids have cemeteries to visit, gravestones to shed tears over, and memories to reminisce …

All Etta has is a house in the suburbs, one day a year… no more.

And on that one day, Etta walks through the house in circles, feeling the warmth of the wood floors under her bare feet, moving around, letting her hands run through inanimate objects hoping for something to unlock a memory within her. There are very few personal effects in the house, absolutely no photographs anywhere, and she knows this because she sees the walls discolored in several places in the shape of rectangular frames where pictures must have once hung. And she runs her hands through the bare walls, closing her eyes and trying to imagine the moments that had been captured in those frames.

Sometimes an object will call to her, begging to be touched, telling her a story without words and it'll hit her without warning, the strength of a memory so intense, that she feels like she's a toddler once again and she's reliving every second of what she can remember. Like the first time time, her hands accidentally brush against the stove in the kitchen and a vision of a beautiful woman conjures up in front of her, with long blond hair and green eyes, wearing a Northwestern shirt and pajamas, flipping pancakes on a hot griddle as a younger version of herself races down the stairs excitedly running up to her and asking to be picked up, and she can see her mother so clearly as she scoops up the little girl and gives her a kiss that she almost reaches out her hand to feel her solidness, before her vision turns to nothingness.

She feels them so intensely and she doesn't know if it's her special abilities or her unbridled longings that are leading her to have hallucinations and she finds she doesn't care. She just wants to never stop feeling them.

One time, she has flashes of her father sitting on the floor in front of the fireplace in her parent's bedroom, her wrapped up in a blanket, in his lap, as he tells her a story about how the caveman discovered fire, her eyes struggling to stay awake, caught between the weariness of her body and the urge to drink in everything he's telling her.

* * *

_"You have an unhealthy fascination for fireplaces and fire you know," she hears her mother's voice as she walks in with a tray with mugs full of cocoa, setting it down on the floor as she settles besides him._

_"Hey I don't recall you having an issue with fireplaces when we were in Vermont; remember what happened there that night…." And the rest of his sentence is cut short as her mother smacks him on the back of his head lightly, giving him a stern look, pointing with her eyes towards Etta in his arms still struggling to stay awake._

_"What happened in Vermont, daddy?" she's asking him now…_

_"Peter..." she's warning him, but her voice betrays amusement and her father's chuckling now clearly enjoying the look on her mother's face_

_"The most wonderful thing that could have ever happened to us sweetheart," he answers her, his smile so wide, as he brings her forehead to his lips, kissing her absently. _

* * *

Almost unknowingly, she makes her way downstairs to the basement, knowing the exact point at which to feel for a light that would illuminate the rest of her path. In the basement, is her father's study cum lab cum personal playground, filled with shelves and shelves of books and a cluttered desk with contraptions of all kinds, a well-used chess board in the middle of a game, monitors cannibalized from various machines and the walls covered nearly end to end in blueprints and schematics interspersed with movie posters and travel postcards, ticket stubs from amusement parks and concerts, and yellow and pink post its peeking randomly here and there with messages from her mother reminding him to do random chores or info about some engagement they had.

_Going to New York for case, _

_Don't forget to drop Etta at her play date. _

_It's at 5 and no, Eric is not hitting on her, he's 3 years old!_

_Love_

_Liv _

She absently fingers three Boston Children's Museum annual passes on his desk, one for each of them. Most museums were not open to the public anymore, nor were many of the libraries or really any kind of venue that could harbor intellectual curiosity or growth.

There was a whiteboard on the wall inundated with two sets of writing. Her father's idiosyncratic and witty musings on anything and everything, often in more than one language, to which her mother would have sometimes left an amusing response. She reads them again and again, laughing over the weird and often scandalous banter they seemed to share, her heart warmed at the easy and simple ways in which they seemed to cherish each other.

* * *

_Peter Bishop = king of quantum entanglement, differential equations and rocking Olivia's world _

_Haah! You wish honey, also Walter is better than you at the first two- Olivia _

_Lab notes by PB - Playing with military grade mainframes is awesome__, better than sex,_

_Nothing's better than sex :) – OD_

_Liv, seriously, stop writing stuff on MY board – Peter _

_Make me :) Liv _

_Things Liv and I could do with each other in the lab when Walter and Astrid aren't around__- have lots of sex on the station counter, on the desk, in the supply closet, in the tank,_

_You __DO __know our daughter is learning to read?_

_Bishop's 1__st__ law of inter-dimensional reproduction – Peter + Olivia = one perfect Etta _

_Bishop's 2__nd__ law of inter-dimensional reproduction- Peter+ Olivia =?_

_If the esteemed scientist would like to be responsible for pregnancy, morning sickness and labor pain, not to mention delivery- absolutely! Otherwise, he can shove his laws up you know where..._

_* Lab notes by PB- subject Dunham seems to be strangely opposed to the idea of further procreation with the most handsome and intelligent man in all of Boston. Like what's up with that? _

_Maybe because he is a cocky self-centered jackass and she doesn't want to bear any more of his satanic spawn ?_

_*clarification – my perfect little angel, the spawn of Satan? Lies, lies… all lies - PB_

_Haah! She's perfect, but she's no angel … far from it - OD_

_Seriously Liv, what about another baby? Peter_

_Maybe when the world's not ending on us okay:) Liv _

_Civilian consultant Bishop would like to request Agent Dunham for a raise, a really big one, so that he can have money to buy his wife an expensive present for her birthday. _

_Request denied… and your wife sounds very high maintenance; you should consider leaving her... for me - Agent Dunham_

_Liv… I just...really, really love you, Peter_

_Love you too, always...Liv _

* * *

While the faint traces of her mother can be found here, it's really her father's character that bleeds through every corner of this room. In the strange messages and notes , in the blueprints and the schematics, and on the large glass board that takes up almost an entire side of the room, where his neat and tidy handwriting covers the surface with extensive equations and diagrams. It's helpfully separated from her own haphazard colorful drawings and squiggly shapes and doodles by a long black marker line in the centre, which her father has drawn, helpfully labeling her side of the board and his _- Daddy's stuff and Etta's stuff_, she smiles, remembering standing next to him in another lifetime, only a fraction of his immense height as he worked tirelessly on balancing equations and analyzing variables and constants while she made drawings of ponies and rainbows, remembers feeling so elated that her work was just as important as her father's that he would allow her to draw on his board.

_"Daddy I can write numbers too... see?"_

_" Of course you can sweety. You're going to be so smart when you grow up." _

In her freshman year at MIT, when she's seventeen, she programs a simulated prototype using one of his decryption software codes for a class assignment, thinking to herself that it possibly can't be sensitive given how harmless a piece of code it is after all.

She gets an A + on the assignment along with a _see me_ from her professor.

* * *

_"I'd really think you'd know better than to play around with your father's research in the open like this."_

_"I don't know what you're talking about."_

_"I think you do. I know exactly who you are and your friends aren't bending over their backs to keep you safe so that you can show off in class with code that might as well be advertising your DNA report to the observers.. " _

_"I wasn't trying to show off…I just wanted to make a good grade"_

_"Well at the risk of dissing higher learning, I'd say you have far more important things to worry about than making straight A's. Just keep under the radar okay. It's not smart to parade around stuff like this… or I'll be forced to fail you the next time."_

_"Sir, that's not really fair..."_

_"You're excused Etta."_

_"Yes Sir…"_

_"And Etta…"_

_"Yes"_

_"Good work, your father would have been very proud."_

* * *

Six months later, she's part of the resistance.

It's in the middle of it that she comes to know all about the old Fringe team, and she absorbs all the knowledge that comes her way, taking in every scrap of information about who her parents were. She's never known them the way they're talked about amongst members of the resistance.

To the rest of them her parents were heroes.

To her they'd been her parents; first and foremost, through every word and action, they had demonstrated that to her, that she came first. That the end of the world didn't matter if she had a gash on her knee that needed tending. That it didn't make a difference that they saw the most indescribable horrors on a daily basis because they would still make sure that she could experience joy and happiness and newness.

And it's that what really keeps bringing her back to the house every year, to remember them like this, to know with absolute certainty that these two incredible individuals who had brought her into this world may have been the infallible heroes that the resistance knows and celebrates albeit in secret, but there were also utterly human at their core, with desires and dreams like anyone else that their lives had been just as full of quirks and rituals and banalities as anyone else's.

That they had lived…


	5. Chapter 5

They fight a lot in the first months of her pregnancy.

Maybe it's the hormones, or the aftermath of the Bell incident, or just the radically new situation they're in now, but Olivia finds that what is supposed to be a joyous time in her life, their lives, is turning out to be anything but that.

It's everything and nothing at the same time. It's the fact that their relationship which exceptional as it is, having defied the boundaries of what was humanely thought possible has still had so little time to simply be, to progress and evolve like normal relationships.

The fact that in ruptures and pieces over the last four years, they've barely had six months together and yet they were now going to be parents is not a leap that can come easily, even for them…

She doesn't even know if Peter really wanted kids and the paraphernalia of life that goes with it, doesn't know if he's ready for it, for any of it, whether he knows what he's getting himself into.

But his happiness is so effusive and genuine that she feels wrong for wanting to clarify, feels like she'll just end up hurting him if she voices any of the thoughts that keep running through her head.

And then there are the ridiculous pangs of insecurity and absurdly… jealousy that rattle her more often than she cares to admit to herself.

* * *

They're at the crime scene one week and Olivia notices the way he's talking to one of the CSU officers, a very pretty brunette who's laughing at some witty crack he's sure to have made.

_He doesn't really ever turn off the charm offensive does he? Probably doesn't even know how to._

And Peter lightly touches the woman's arm before walking away from her and even though it's the most innocuous gesture that no one in their right mind could read anything into, Olivia almost sees red and thinks she wants to throttle him in that moment.

And later that day they're pouring over records in the lab and she's already mentally chiding herself for being so irrational earlier.

"I'll ask Amanda whether she can put a rush on it." He says when she asks him about some results they're waiting on from CSU, referring once again to the brunette and taking out his cellphone.

"You're on a first name basis with her?" she asks even before she can help herself. Peter doesn't even seem to note the doubt in her voice, too concerned with pulling up _that_ woman's number on his phone.

"She's worked on eight cases with us, of course I know her name, Liv," he shakes his head at her, still not even giving her his full attention.

"Oh look at you being so observant that you know exactly how many cases she's been on."

"Excuse me?" he's looking at her baffled.

"Just remind her that we need this by the end of today, you know if you can manage to squeeze that information in somewhere between flirting with her and finding out her middle name and street address."

"Flirting with her?" Peter looks more amused than anything else and she wants to beat the shit out of him for wearing that smirk on his face, if it's the last thing she'll do.

"Don't deny it. I saw you with her. The way she kept looking at you, it looked like she'd be willing to let you father her children, so getting a rush on the results should be no problem." she's almost ready to cry now and Peter's still smirking at her, outright laughing, clearly finding some amusement in the situation that she just does not see and it's really not helping her feel any better.

"Well, considering you're already on top of the first one, I think I'll just ask for the results," He says, shaking his head in quiet laughter, before his face becomes serious when he looks at her.

"Oh God, Liv what's wrong, why are you crying?" He's cupping her face gently, trying to wipe the tears off, but she's batting his hands away.

"Why do you think?" She says sniffling miserably, knowing deep down the absurdness of her reaction to this situation.

"Come on, you can't be serious." Peter says incredulously, bringing her gaze to meet his. "I wasn't flirting with her or anything. We were discussing blood spatter from the body and I assure you, you can't flirt in a conversation that involves something like that. Not even if you were trying, which I wasn't I swear." He says earnestly.

"That's because you don't have to. You don't even know the effect you have on women and then they're looking at you like they want to jump your bones into the next century. It makes me really mad." She says heatedly.

And Peter's looking at her like she's lost her mind and she can relate because this irrational, weepy woman is not who she is and she hates these pregnancy hormones which make her act so out of character and she can't even believe the words coming out of her mouth

"Just promise me you won't leave for me for her?"

"That's insane. Why would I leave you for her? I barely know her."

"I need you to promise Peter."

"Liv … this is really stupid."

"Are you saying you won't do it?"

"Liv?"

"Peter?"

"Umm… I promise I won't leave you a woman I don't even know…"

"Good, I'll call Amanda and you can go bring me some chocolate from the vending machine"

"Liv..."

"Chocolate Peter… now."

* * *

More than anything she's not used to her body being so temperamental, suddenly defiant of her steely control over pain or exhaustion or hunger or such lesser concerns, concerns which she's always pushed aside to charge ahead.

Concerns which she's been forced to make a priority now. After the first time, she'd collapsed in the middle of a crime scene because she'd only been doing what she always did while on case, not sleep, not eat and work too hard, forgetting that she was growing a human being inside her all the while.

She still forgets, and has to keep mentally reminding herself to eat at regular intervals, to sit down and not stand for long hours, to give into exhaustion and rest when her body demands it. It's irritating for someone like her to be such a slave to her well-being, and her irritation only gets amplified every time Peter keeps reminding her of the same damn things.

She understands really, gets why he's so concerned about her and most days, she's more than okay with his need to take care of her. He's been doing that in any case for the past four years. But the marked overprotectiveness that has now entered the equation is putting everything out of balance.

He's never seen her in the past as something fragile to be shielded from danger. In fact, he's always had far more faith in her capabilities than she's certainly had. But now he hovers over her, expresses concern over her going into the field, goes as far as _telling_ her to not go somewhere or not do something ( really, he should have known better than to have tried that)

She's chafing under it and no matter how many times she lets the issue go, they still end up having too many arguments about her work.

_"Dammit Peter, don't keep telling me what to do. I am an adult and I can take care of myself. As you can see, I kept myself perfectly alive for 29 years without your help. In fact most of my near death experiences occurred only after I met you. " She tells him as she clasps the Kevlar vest on to her top, as she prepares to lead her team into the warehouse where their suspect is holed up. _

_"The day I met you, you let a mentally unhinged scientist stick electrodes to your head, get you high on smack and put you in a rusty tank full of water." _

_"Is there a point to this?" she asks him, her voice tight with anger._

_"My point is you're far too reckless when it comes to your job and you'll go to any lengths without ever thinking about the consequences and that needs to change."_

_"That's rich coming from you. You've never considered the consequences of anything in your whole goddamn life, not once" _

_"Yes I know that. But it doesn't make a difference because I am not the one who's carrying our child right now."_

_"That's right Peter, you're not." She finally tells him, looking at him with barely concealed anger. "I am the one who's actually having this baby, not you. I know what I need to do and what I don't and unless Walter can find a way of drastically altering biological roles and letting you take over this pregnancy, I really suggest you stop interfering with my life and telling me how to do my job. Now are we done here?" _

_His face is white with anger and he moves aside to let her pass but not before saying. "Assuming you don't get shot in there, we're not done on this, not even close"_

She doesn't get shot, but she does take a nasty tumble down the stairs, when her suspect pushes her against the wall in a bid to get away and for an agonizing number of seconds, before help can arrive, she lies there crouching on the floor, hugging her stomach, her blood literally runs cold thinking that something could have happened to the baby.

And she's on a gurney, still bent over and EMTs are around her and all she can see is Peter's face as he rushes towards her and takes her hand, sheer terror seeping through every pore of his body.

"Oh God, Peter," she moans his name, her hand feebly squeezing his. "Peter, the baby..."

"It'll be fine Liv, It'll be fine."

And a few hours later, she's lying in a hospital bed, and Peter's tracing the garden of bruises that have broken out on her forehead, and her eyes are closed and she's leaning into his touch, exhaling with relief that everything actually turns out to be fine.

"I asked you not to go out there…" she hears him say, "I begged you…" His voice is not confrontational like before, merely above a whisper, but the insistence is the same.

"I know, I am sorry." She doesn't open her eyes, not wanting to see the look of disappointment in his eyes.

"You can't keep doing this Liv. You can't keep putting yourself in danger…"

"I know"

"We were lucky today; we might not be the next time,"

"I know…"

* * *

A week later… they have a fight that nearly ends them…

She's happily tucking into her bowl of pasta in the kitchen, thankful that she can actually bear the thought of being near actual food that wasn't yogurt or saltines or juice. Her morning sickness has been so horrible the past few days that she can barely eat anything and when in the rare occasions that she does, it's only half an hour before she's nauseous and retching her guts out.

It's nothing fancy, just penne with some sauce that came out of a bottle, but it feels like gourmet when she bites into a forkful of her food, and she sighs in sheer contentment.

Contentment that's rapidly shattered when Peter walks into the kitchen and slams her laptop on the counter in front of her.

He's livid and while she's seen him angry, she doesn't think she's seen him this angry, at least never at her.

"Would you mind letting me know why you're looking up adoption agencies?"

The storm in his eyes almost causes Olivia to stumble backwards in her chair and for a moment, she goes blank, before she can bring herself to answer.

"What were you doing looking through my computer?" she asks accusingly, the irritation that she's been suppressing for weeks, bubbling over to the surface. It's a question meant to deflect and she knows it won't make him back down, not even a little bit.

Predictably, Peter is unfazed, "That's not the answer to my question Olivia, and I wasn't looking through your computer. I didn't have to given that you so helpfully left the browser open on your screen for the entire world to see. Now will you please tell me why you were searching for this information?"

She can feel a headache coming on, as she rubs her temple trying to vainly soother her nerves.

"Why do you think Peter?" She asks tiredly. "It's because I am considering it…"

She hears him swear under his breath…

"You're considering giving our child up?" he asks, almost unsure that the words are in fact coming out of his mouth.

She can't bring herself to do anything but nod, staring at her meal which she has no appetite for anymore.

He doesn't speak for several seconds and Olivia wishes she could just disappear somewhere, where the silence wasn't so deafening.

"And you didn't think to involve me in this consideration?"

"I was going to discuss it with you... I just couldn't find the time and it's not like…."

"Time?" He laughs mirthlessly, "Are you seriously telling me that in the ten weeks that I've been going out of my mind with happiness thinking I was going to be a father, you couldn't find one fucking second to tell me that you don't even want this baby?"

"Peter…"

"Because believe me I would have understood if you didn't, as much as it would have pained me I would have understood Olivia, but to actually let me think you were happy about this while you were planning to give our child up … "

"I wasn't planning…" she shakes her head, feeling utterly cornered "That's not what this is about Peter."

"No, that's exactly what it is isn't it? You don't want this baby, you never did. That's why you don't care about putting yourself in danger, because you don't care whether this child lives or dies."

"Don't you dare" She's up on her feet now, her body inflamed by his words and feeling so angry that she can't hear her voice over the blood rushing through her ears. "Don't you dare say that, you hear me, don't you ever say that…"

"You have no idea how much I want this baby. How much I love her already," she says, her hand coming to rest on her stomach, as she clenches it desperately, her back against the counter closing her eyes in pain.

"I love her so much Peter, it hurts." she swallows, shaking her head furiously "But don't you see, she's not safe with me. She's not even born yet and I can't keep her safe, not from my job, not from who I am, not from people who'll keep wanting to use me for my abilities, people who could use her to get to me. God Peter, I died, while she was still in my womb and last week… I almost lost her again and you're right about me being reckless. But don't you see it doesn't matter. It doesn't matter, if I don't take risks or spend the rest of the nine months in bubble wrap. She'll always be in danger because of me… and I am her mother. I am supposed to protect her.

There's nothing I want more than to have this baby with you, to have a family and the reason, the only reason I would ever consider giving up on that is because I am so scared that something will happen to her because of me. So as much as it kills me to do it, yes, I think about giving her up, thinking that if she grew up far away from all of this, with a normal family, maybe just maybe she would be safe. Not because I don't want her, because God I do, I want her more than anything else in the world. I want to be able to hold her in my arms and look into her eyes and every day before I go to bed and after I wake up I am so afraid, that I'll never get the chance to do any of that, that I won't even get to hold her and you have no idea what that's like."

She's shaking with anger now, her eyes are beginning to well up, and she has to turn away from him, feeling as she does, almost bared to the bone after her admission, pressing her hands to the counter, leaning in for support, trying to get herself to breathe, to calm down as a wave of dizziness washes over her.

And they don't say anything to each other for a few minutes.

"You said she…" Peter says from behind her, his voice so gentle, all the earlier aggravation gone out of it

"Hmmm…" she says vaguely. She feels so drained and she doesn't know if she has any more strength to keep with this, this constant arguing and explaining.

"You said she, the baby..."

"Yeah..."

"How do you know?"

"I just do." Her hand drifts to her stomach again, as she runs her fingers over the expanse of the skin there, feeling the ever so slight swell. Peter's hand comes to join hers, as he caresses her fingers gently.

"I know you're scared."

She scoffs, shaking her head. "You don't know anything," The idea that he could even begin to comprehend her fears was laughable.

"I was the one who had to watch you fall into a heap on the ground, dead. I am the one who has had to watch you go into dangerous situations every day for the past four years. I've been worrying for your safety long before I even had a right to, before you would let me, before you were carrying my child, before any of it, I worried for you. So don't tell me I don't know what it's like to be scared for someone you love more than anything in the world." His face is resting on her shoulder and his voice reverberates against her ear, and as he presses a kiss to her neck and she can't help leaning against him, her eyes closing.

"Peter… if we don't give her up, we could end up losing her altogether, we have to be rational about this."

"Is that what you really want?" his hold over her midriff tightens, as he leaves her palm to slip his fingers under her sweater, as he pulls her closer, and she feels the heat of his palm against her abdomen and she gasps at the warmth of the contact.

"God no. How can you even ask me that? But think about it, what choice do we have?"

"We always have a choice," he says forcefully bringing his other hand around her waist to embrace her fully, and he turns towards her and she sees steely determination in his eyes, "Liv, in some alternate universe there is a version of us who have stupid boring jobs and perfectly normal lives and their biggest concern is probably whether they should go for the sedan or the minivan…"

"Definitely the Sedan, I hate minivans…" she finds it in her to somehow punctuate with a joke and he can't help smiling at her, before he presses on, "But we're not those people and we can't help being the being the people that we are. And yes that makes things difficult, things that other people can take for granted, but it doesn't mean that we can't try, try to have everything that we know we deserve."

He's turning her around, so that she can fully look at him, locking his gaze with hers, and his hand is pressing so possessively against her stomach that she feels like it'll leave an imprint "Olivia, we deserve to have this baby, she's ours and and _we_ get to keep her." He's telling her now and she wants to drink in every word, wants to believe in the firm resolution of his voice.

"And as long as I know that she's meant to be with us, we'll find a way to keep her safe, I promise you that. You're not alone in this, you know that right?" He asks her.

"I know that. It's just….I've been on my own for so long… that I think I forget," she tells him honestly.

"Well then, here's a reminder," he says, pulling her in for a kiss, letting his lips work a familiar magic over hers, letting her know everything his words may have failed to convey, and when he pulls away, there is a soft twinkle in his blue eyes and he's smiling at her so reassuringly that it assuages her fears despite everything.

Later that night in bed, when she's almost asleep, she can't help asking him again

"Peter, you really think we can have everything we deserve?"

He pulls her close, his hand coming to rest on her middle, a gesture he'll repeat every day for the next few months, even as she gets bigger and bigger and the length of his arms cannot encompass her whole figure.

"Absolutely, our path to happiness may be different from everyone else's. But it doesn't mean we won't be able to find it," he says, his voice so groggy and at odds with the weight of his words.

She can't help but giggle at that grand statement, "Did you pick that up reading books?", she asks not quite sure how anyone but Peter can interject such lofty sentences in between conversations and get away with it.

"Nope, came up with it all on my own… and you know what else Liv?"

"Hmm..."

"We're so going to have to buy a fucking minivan someday."


	6. Chapter 6

If four years ago, someone had told Olivia Dunham that the jack of all trades, pain in the ass, slacker genius of a man that she had dragged all the way from Baghdad to Boston to have Walter Bishop released would one day be walking around in an Ikea store with her … shopping for furniture.

She would have thought said someone… needed to be committed.

And yet here he was, the same flighty and sarcastic Peter Bishop she'd met that day, holding her hand and leading her through a selection of bookcases, like it was the most normal thing for him to do.

And that alone should surprise her more than any disgusting fringe event she had ever come across.

But he's always managed to belie her expectations of him, sometimes outright defying them, showing her more than once that he wasn't the callous, self-absorbed man he obviously wanted everybody to see him as.

Even in those first few days, when his sharp remarks to his father were grating on her nerves, and his obvious reluctance to be there was evident for anyone to see…

She remembers when she was preparing to go into the tank for the first time, being numb and disoriented from the anesthesia that Walter had injected her with, and keeling over unsteadily when without warning he had jabbed an electrode into the back of her neck, and a pair of strong arms reflexively grabbing to steady her, holding her in place while the world spinned around.

_"I've got you…I've got you..."_

It's ironic how a self-confessed nomad like him who had balked at the thought of putting roots anywhere, is the one to take all the initiative as they set out to build home – one Swedish self-assembly piece of furniture at a time.

He's the one who spends weeks scouting for a new house for them to live in, and while he's giving her the tour of a house that he's finally deemed perfect (and she had to admit it is pretty perfect) he's rattling on about the school system and the nearby park and coming from him, it sounds weirder than the scientific gibberish Walter keeps spouting, and she has to resist the absurd need to ask him if he's been replaced by a pod person.

She remembers the same man in her office long ago, vehemently telling her how much he much he wanted to leave Boston and Walter and their ragtag investigative team, how much he hated being tied down, how badly he wanted out…

_Olivia, don't bother. I wanted to help. I felt bad. I still feel bad about what happened to you. But the truth is, you don't need me here…_

_…I don't do well staying in one place. You know that. This isn't the job for me…_

_This is the last one, Olivia. Then I'm gone._

_Olivia, I am very sorry, but I think you'll understand why I don't want to hang around any longer._

If he had left that day, and she knows if he really had wanted to there's not a thing she could have done to stop him, she would have never known this life with him, known the truth of the man that hid behind the layers of smugness and cynicism, come to love that man.

"You don't have to try so hard you know," she tells him as she's sitting on the couch in their new living room, while he's on the floor with his legs stretched out, showing her his sketches for all the home improvement projects he plans on undertaking, "We both know, we'll be spending most of our time out in the field or in the lab anyway."

"Well we still need to have a place to come back to right?" he shrugs, "And the baby will need a proper home when she's here." He points out.

"Yeah, somehow I don't see her coming in this world, kicking and screaming, demanding that you install a kitchen island or build box seats for the bedroom windows, do you?" she asks, her tone rife with amusement, as her eyes drift towards the extensive detailing of his plans.

"When did you become such a smart-ass?" he asks his face turned upwards as he looks at her, lighting up with a crooked grin.

"Considering how long I've been putting up with your pathological sarcasm, I am surprised you haven't rubbed off on me sooner," she says, absently bringing her hand to run through his hair.

He's leaning into her touch, throwing his head back against the edge of the couch, closing his eyes, a faint smirk on his lips "There's a joke in there that I am just not going to make because it's too easy..." he says, earning himself a light smack on his head.

"I seriously hope that your perverse sense of humor is not hereditary," She says unable to contain her smile.

"Oh come off it Dunham, you're in love with my comic genius, every bit of it, along with my stunning good looks and winning smile of course."

"Also would be a good thing if you didn't pass on your starling lack of humility to our child."

"You don't need humility, not when you're as goddamn perfect as me…" he says in mock dismissal and she wants to kiss him and slap him in the same moment. She's withdrawing her hand from his hair, but he protests, his eyes still closed

"Don't… feels good," he says lazily.

"If I tell you something, will you promise not to brag about it or use it against me," she asks, luxuriating in the feel of his soft tendrils against her finger tips as they fall into a light massage like movement of their own accord.

"I don't make promises I have absolutely no intention of keeping," he's shaking his head, "but you can still go ahead and tell me."

"When we first knew each other… you know early on… I used to wanna do this so badly, wanted to know what your hair felt like in my hands. "

And his eyes are open, and his smile is an extra level of cocky and she's almost regretting telling him this, "Really?" he asks, his voice teasing, "Is that all you wanted to do badly?"

And she can't help laughing at the knowing tone in his voice, "No I wanted to do more actually," she tells him honestly, and the smile is almost splitting his face at this point.

"I was still getting over John and feeling so out of sync what with all the craziness we were dealing with, and there you'd be walking around in the lab carefree and happy despite it all and you'd always make me laugh, and I couldn't help thinking in those times that sleeping with you would be easy….a nice casual distraction from everything else. You seemed almost like you were made for no-strings sex." she's smiling to herself now, and she misses the way Peter's own smile dulls slowly.

"Yeah that's me, all about the no-strings." He's pulling away from her now and Olivia registers the shift in his tone even though she can't see his face, "And you would have really enjoyed it too… I have extensive experience in being the meaningless rebound guy, it's my specialty actually," he's gathering his sketches off the floor.

"Peter... I didn't mean," she says apologetically.

"No I know what you meant Liv and you're right on the money," he's still not looking at her, staring at the sheet in his hand. "If you had asked me then, I would have happily jumped into bed with you and then come into work the next day like nothing had happened. Hell, I think the only thing that kept me from suggesting it myself was the fact that you carried a gun and that you'd likely have beaten the shit out of me. "

"Peter…"

"Wish I'd known you were into it though…we could have had the best times," he's saying sadly, trying to make light of it. "You really missed out honey; I've been told on good authority that I am quite the treat when it comes to casual sex."

"I am glad I missed out," she says putting a hand on his shoulder, as she slid down from the couch to join him on the floor, resting her head against his arm, trying to absorb the tension from his body into hers. "As phenomenal as your talents are in bed, I am afraid I want too much more from you for it to be casual."

"You wouldn't have said those four years ago," he says clutching her hand, bringing it to his lips.

"That's because I didn't know you four years ago, not the real you."

"I am pretty much the same person, Liv" he reminds her, "But I am glad you choose to believe in me regardless."

"Me too," she says, suddenly understanding his need to invest so much in their home, in the idea of their home. It's something he wants to prove to her, to himself.

After a few seconds, he looks at her with genuine curiosity, "Do you ever wish, you were with someone more straight laced… more like..."

"More like?"

"I don't know… Lincoln?"

"Lincoln?" she almost wants to laugh at that.

"Hey, you were doing your whole awkward flirting routine with him for quite some time there woman."

"I wasn't doing any… you think my flirting is awkward?" She's narrowing his eyes at him now with disapproval.

"Oh sweetheart, no offense, but I've seen fourteen year olds with smoother game and I know game , trust me." He says smugly.

"Peter!" she shoves him, not at all amused.

"Hey don't hate me because I speak truth to power," he's smirking now, bouncing back to his usual cocky self, obviously enjoying himself "You're exceptional at many things but flirting is not one of them. I swear it's like watching a glitchy, self-conscious robot in action. It's sweet actually. And I think the only reason it would have worked is because Lincoln is just as bad as you, possibly worse. "

"Maybe the both of us should take lessons from you, given you're such a freakin expert on the subject matter," she's scowling at him, mostly because she knows he's stating the truth about her less than stellar talent for such things, things which come as easily as breathing to him.

"Oh I am always happy to pass down knowledge, though I think you two will need remedial level attention," he says a tad too arrogantly for her liking.

"Peter you're really a jackass you know that, and a stupid mean one at that." she's standing up now, feeling more than insulted and her pregnancy nerves are in action again. "I hope you're little joke was worth it because for all your so called game, you're not getting lucky for a really long time."

"Hey that's not fair… you were the one who asked me… Liv come back here," he's now behind her partly amused and partly worried that she might be serious and Olivia can't help but torture him a little bit.

"I hope you'll be this proud of your flirting talents when your daughter becomes a teenager and is flattening boys with all the game that she'll no doubt get from you. I am sure _she _won't be a glitchy, self-conscious robot."

And Peter looks seriously worried at that.

"I never said that being a sucky flirt was a bad thing."


	7. Chapter 7

"So do you think we should do it?" Peter asks her from his side of the bed, looking up from his book, as if a random thought had occurred to him.

She's sitting on the box seat that he does in fact build for their bedroom window, her legs stretched out, as she's holding a three-month old Etta in her arms gently lulling her to sleep.

"Hmm..." She's only giving her half of his attention, lost as she is for the millionth time in her daughter's beautiful blue eyes, half-laden with sleep.

"Get marriage out of the way and be done with it?" his tone suggesting that they're discussing getting winter tires, and if it wasn't the fact that the word marriage is included in his sentence, she wouldn't even have known that they weren't in fact doing just that . She looks at him, and he's already back to his book.

"For someone with your verbal proclivity, if that's your idea of a proposal, then it's not your best work Peter," she shakes her head, not knowing if she should feel more disappointed about the utterly banal way in which he brings this up.

"That's because it's not… a proposal that is" he says, "I am not asking you to marry me. I am asking if you think we should get married."

"Is there a difference between the two?" she asks.

"Of course there is," he points out, "One of them is a question which gives me all the power of deciding when to take this step in our relationship and puts you in the position of only being able to say yes or no to that decision. The other is a question that can allow us to discuss the option in an equitable way and make a decision together about whether we want this or not."

"Honey, you make it so sound so romantic," she tells him dryly and she can't help but be vaguely touched by his statement, "But okay, let's talk about it. Is this something you want?" she asks him, looking at his face for his reaction, wanting to know.

"To be honest it doesn't make a difference to me, Liv," he tells her shaking his head, not in a cynical voice though. His gaze is now on Etta and then comes to rest on her "I have everything I want already and you already know I am not invested in seeking the sanction of some higher being that I don't believe in to make what we have legitimate, whatever that even means, but I am completely open to the idea, if it's something you want, if it'll make you happy." He says sincerely.

"It doesn't really make a difference to me either," she tells him knowing exactly how he feels, because she's never needed a piece of paper to tell her she would spend the rest of her life with this man, "We're together, we're happy and we have our baby and that's all that I need, but…" she falters slightly, " It might be a good idea to do it, for Etta's sake you know, legally speaking, in case something happened to me…" she inhales sharply, feeling the weight of her own words, knowing the high possibility of just that happening, " or you.."

Peter's gotten up from the bed and beside her in a matter of seconds, kneeling on the floor, putting a hand over hers reassuringly, "That's not going to happen… you know that, you have to stop worrying about that so much" he tells her, "But you make a good point about protecting Etta legally. It's the responsible thing to do."

"Peter Bishop, the epitome of responsibility," she smiles at him, "never thought I'd see the day."

"I think we both know stranger things have happened…. way stranger, remember the insane jobs we have?" he points out, "so what do you think Liv, should we do it? The marriage part that we skipped in between the love and the baby carriage?"

And he's looking at her with so much love that Olivia's glad in that moment that he didn't trot out some clichéd proposal setup and she knows again that this is the person she'll grow old with.

"I don't see why not," she tells him laughing, "though do you mind, since you're on your knees anyway, asking me properly, just so when people ask, I have a story to tell them instead of having to quote your quasi feminist diatribe on proposals."

"This is what I get for treating you as an equal," he huffs in mock exasperation, though a thin smile betrays his amusement, "what else, do you want a ring as well?"

"I think I'll survive the lack of one. We could use the money for splurging on other things, like food and mortgage payments." He's holding her hand now and despite everything, she feels a little giddy, anticipation building up in her.

"Olivia..."

"Peter..."

"Marry me?"

"Okay"

"Okay"


	8. Chapter 8

Olivia breathes in deeply, without being able to stop the hiss of pain escape from her mouth. Peter's pulling into their driveway and he gives her a worried sideways look, her palm closing over the fabric of her jeans as she gripped her thigh, willing for the sensation to ebb away.

"I really think we should go to the hospital and get you checked out, just to make sure." He tells her.

"Peter I am fine...I just want to go inside." she assures him, already unbuckling her seatbelt as he pulls into the garage and brings the car to a halt. "The emergency room is the last place I want to be after a day like this, its past midnight and we've already kept Astrid here for far too long. It's very inconsiderate to abuse someone's offer to babysit like this."

"Honey, we were getting guns shoved in our faces, not flaking off to go hit a nightclub. I think Astrid knows that," he says, following behind her into the house noticing her hesitant left step, slightly wavering after her right and he knows she's not as fine as she's telling him.

Astrid's sitting at the table in their kitchen, waiting for them; she takes in the sight of them and her face contorts in concern and Peter knows they must look pretty banged up.

"Don't worry, it looks worse than it is." he tells her preempting her question, before she can ask them.

"What happened?" she asks, shaking her head, making it clear that she doesn't believe him.

"What always happens...?" Olivia shrugs, leaning against the counter, trying hard to not grimace in pain, as she peels of her jacket with some effort, "Is Etta asleep?"

"Yeah hours ago, I was… oh God, Olivia, you're bleeding…" Astrid exclaims as she looks at her.

Olivia see Peter follows her gaze to look at the sickly patch of red that's soaked into her blue shirt and hears him swear under his breath, and he meets her eyes, looking at her with thinly veiled frustration, the concern bleeding though his expression.

"I am fine guys seriously. It's just a flesh wound," she says, trying not squirm under Peter's gaze. "Doesn't even hurt all that much. Astrid thanks so much for staying so late. I hope Etta didn't cause a fuss."

"Don't worry about it. We had a lot of fun of together." Astrid says picking up her bag to leave. "You really should have that cleaned up though."

She meets Peter's eyes and they share an almost amused look of mutual suffering, as she lightly touches his shoulder.

"Take care of her," she tells him softly before making her way out of the door.

_I would if she'd just let me,_ he thinks to himself tiredly. He looks at Olivia in the light and takes in properly the various small scratches and cuts on her face and the faint trickle of blood from behind her ear. He has a few of those himself, but nothing as serious as her.

"Don't start okay. It's not like I got up today and decided I wanted to make full body contact with a hard patch of asphalt." She's telling him, "and you've already maxed your quota of Liv, be careful speeches for this month." She jokes, but he doesn't smile. He simply sighs in resignation, pulling off his own jacket and rolling up the sleeves of his sweater, before he walks over to the drawer to fish out the first aid kit they kept in there, along with a giant bottle of pain killers that seemed to be half empty already.

It was a testament to how often one or both of them came home banged up and worse for the wear.

"I almost want to strangle you sometimes, you know that," he says angrily, shaking his head as he motions for her to sit on the stool. He brings his hands to her shirt and undoes her buttons brusquely, swallowing uneasily, when his fingers encounter the dampness of her blood as he reaches her midriff.

"Assuming this job doesn't kill me, maybe you just might get the chance," she smiles lifting her arms a little as he divests her off her shirt, bracing herself for his reaction, when he sees her wound.

"Jesus, Liv…" he whispers harshly, as he takes in the nasty gash that's broken out below her bra stretching all the way up to her navel, his fingers ghost around the wrecked skin and he looks at her with raw worry.

"Peter I am…"

"Don't you dare say fine. You need to reconsider your definition of fine, because this is not fucking fine. Look at the amount of blood you've lost. Tell me, do you even have any sense of self-preservation, any at all? " his voice tight with anger, as he retrieves some antiseptic and cotton from the box to clean her wound.

Olivia doesn't say anything and simply lets him tend to her wounds as he continues to berate her for chasing after their suspects without backup. She knows these moments well when he gets into diatribes about her knack for being in danger. Unfortunately they have had these conversations too many times and she knows the only assurance she can really give him at the end of the day is to let him just vent his frustrations and dress her wounds, and she leans into his touch, finding comfort in his gentle ministrations even as she drown out his words, already knowing every single thing he is going to say, things he has said to her a thousand times before.

Because days like these happen over and over in their lives. She's lost count of the number of times one of them has woken up in a hospital bed to a look of conflicted relief and worry from the other person, the beyond unreasonable amount of nights they've spent fixing each other up after some act of violence has been done against their bodies. Sometimes it's just a nick or a scratch that needs no more than a bandaid…

….and sometimes it's Peter carrying her unconscious form, broken and bleeding as he's trying to ascertain damage with shaky hands, struggling to hold her swaying body upright in his strong arms as he strips her of her clothing and gets her into the shower, trying to wash away the blood and the filth, trying to almost wash away the injuries from her person… talking to her, asking her to stay awake even as she barely registers anything in her woozy mind…

She knows it costs him every time he has to do this, bring her home far less intact than she was when they left it at the beginning of the day, and yet he has the wherewithal to take care of her himself instead of turning her over to a professional.

Which is what she always does, because the thought of him being hurt seriously makes her go weak and incapable in a way that not even the end of universes can.

But he's always strong… even if he complains and fusses and rolls his eyes… efficiently and with heartbreaking delicacy he repairs her…time and again, and she's always grateful for that…

Because she'll take him being her personal medic and have his gentle hands tend to her any day over sitting in a sterile hospital room being patched up by some expert.

"Are you hurt anywhere else and you better be straight with me, Liv? He asks her as puts the bottle down after he's done cleaning her wounds and putting bandages, his voice a lot more gentle now.

She shakes her head and pulls him closer for a kiss, weaving her hand through his hair as he leans into it and deepens the kiss. She feels the tension of his jaw line recede just a little bit and takes that as a positive sign of worry evaporating.

"Thank you..." she whispers against his lips, her hands raking through his hair as they part for some oxygen, "for taking such good care of me."

"Yeah, I do such a stellar job of it that you get shoved into the ground by goons every other fortnight," he murmurs wryly, still close to her, as he leans to kiss her again, next to her lip "I deserve a world's best husband mug just for that."

"You deserve a gold medal… for your patience with me." she tells him, closing her eyes in pleasure, as his lips move against her chin in a downward trail, expertly finding the pulse point in her neck , gasping as his teeth lightly grazes her skin.

_And for making me want to jump your bones even when I am in physical pain,_ she thinks to herself, smiling.

He abandons the nook of her neck, to look her in the eye, as his forehead comes to rest on her, "I had to be patient for three years just to get you; your stubbornness is small fry." He smiles, and then his face turns serious, "But I have to tell you the truth, my patience with all of this… our jobs is running out, Liv. I am just so damn sick of doing this, dealing with these horrible, worthless excuses for humanity. "

"I know," she tells him, knowing his frustrations. Most days their work borders on uncovering the extraordinary, the impossible and its fills her with a sense of awe to be able to do the things they do, to make sense of these insane situations and find resolution. She knows Peter feels the same way. But unlike her, he's never been able to reconcile the days that they bend the fabric of what's possible with the days when there is just the shockingly normal but ugly seediness of the world that rears its head, when they're morally unscrupulous men driven by material concerns they're dealing with and not anomalies of science.

"Let's just quit," he tells her, his voice almost wistful, as he drops a kiss on her nose "Seriously, we're long overdue. This is a crazy way to live. Let some other gorgeous blonde agent and her devilishly charming sidekick takeover saving the world. God knows we've done more than our fair share of it."

"Sidekick?" she cocks an eyebrow at him, as he briefly meets her eyes before pulling her hair away from the other side of her neck, bending down to kiss her shoulder blade.

"Well it's been four years, seven actually if you don't take into account the little caveat of me having disappeared from existence for a brief while …and _your_ agency won't even let me have a gun."

"That's because you don't need one," she reminds him as he renews his assault on her neck, "You're a civilian consultant and if you had bothered to read the contract that you signed with the agency, you'd know that you're only ever required to be in the field with me when we're investigating a crime scene, not when a crime is actually happening. It's not the FBI's fault that you're a shameless tagalong who has to get in my way all the time."

"Talk about ungrateful," he shakes his head in mock disapproval, his lips leaving her skin briefly as he retorts, "I think I'll just go back to doing something where I am more appreciated."

"Like what? Running cons on wealthy businessmen?" she teases him, bringing his face up so she can see him.

"Hey, there's a lot of job satisfaction to be found there, not to mention the perks. Fancy dinners, five star hotels, pool side champagne…"

"Getting arrested for fraud?"

"Not if you don't get caught," he says with a smirk. "And you missy, you can find some strapping, by the book, WestPoint graduate to be your partner for all I care."

"You mean someone who'd actually get any work done instead of riding around in a car with me all day, complaining about Walter and subjecting me to his constant witticisms? Do you think I'll get so lucky?" she's laughing now and Peter scowls, his face struggling to hide his amusement.

"Keep that up and I'll actually quit on you and then we'll see how you get by." he says to her petulantly.

"Ooh I am scared," she mocks him, before pulling him closer, wrapping his legs around him as she runs her hand through his cheek, " I think we both know that you couldn't stay away from me if you moved to another universe, let alone a different job."

"Need I remind you who begged me to come back?" he points out, as she moves closer to him, his hands on her jeans, caressing her thighs in lazy movements.

"Whatever, I don't recall you putting up much of a fight. One kiss and you were ready to follow me home." she presses a kiss on his jaw, her eyes closing at the sensation of her skin coming into contact with the roughness of his stubble.

"I'd follow you to Timbuktu if you asked me. If it means we get to leave this insanity behind." she hears him whisper into her ear, " Seriously, let's just leave…anywhere." And she knows how much he means it.

"And then what would we do?" her eyes are still closed, and for a moment she wants to picture the possibility of a different life, she brings her hands to slip under his sweater, relishing the expanse of smooth, untarnished skin that she encounters as her fingers roam freely

"Hmmm…organic farming…" he tells her, his voice thick with desire as he takes her mouth into his again, the heat emanating from his body making her heady.

"We can barely remember to mow our lawn every weekend," she's pulling his sweater upwards, tugging it off of him as she blindly lets its drop to the floor, and she puts her hands on his chest, wanting to feel more of him.

"Okay, not organic farming….but there must be things you can do. I mean try putting telekinesis on your resume and not finding a job …" his hands are on her shoulder blades now, flicking one of her bra straps, watching it slide down her shoulder like it was the most fascinating sight in the world, "Or you could teach grade school, you'd make a very sexy school teacher."

"Keep talking…" she moves closer to pepper his torso with kisses, delighting in the way he shivered as her lips moved randomly.

"We could move to Montreal and get a tiny pretentious studio, no wait … we'll need two bedrooms. One for Etta." His voice is rich and husky and Olivia doesn't miss the slight quiver of anticipation.

"And what will you do?" she asks him, as she takes his idle hands which have been resting on her shoulders, directing them to her back.

"I'd stay at home being a struggling writer by day and maybe play piano at a jazz bar in the evenings…if it's not too much work." he tells her, his fingers finding her bra, as he deftly unhooks it without breaking eye contact with her.

"So you're saying you'll be freeloading off me while I work hard at an underpaid job and support our family?" she pulls him a little closer, wanting… almost needing to put as little distance between them as possible.

"Precisely, at least until my novel gets published and I become a famous writer that is…" he grins, his hands drawing lazy circles on her lower back, "But till then I'll stay at home with Etta, help with her homework, take her to the park, drop her off to school and wait for you to come home every day for lunch in the afternoons, when it'll be just the two of us. And we can make love everywhere in our cramped apartment…"

"Everywhere?" she whispers, as his mouth finds her yet again, kissing the expanse of skin right above her bra, barely hanging onto her frame anymore, and she melts against him.

"Against every surface, hard and soft…" he mumbles against her skin, making goose bumps rise on her flesh

"Sounds exhausting, maybe a little painful…."

"Where there is love, there is pain…"

"Picked that off a fortune cookie did you?"

"It's a Spanish proverb actually."

"I don't think it refers to that kind of pain." she shakes her head, entangling herself from him for a second. "And you can't actually make love to me against every surface," she tells him seriously, almost forgetting for a minute that they were indulging in a fantasy.

"Is that a dare?" he asks her, his voice low, almost dangerous, eyes laden with lust in a way that makes heat rise in every cell of her body.

"I was talking about sanitary concerns." She tells him, moving back into his embrace, almost feeling bereft from the brief lack of contact, her head resting against his chest, as she sighs happily.

"Hmmm, you have a point…well maybe not_ every _surface." His fingers thread into her hair as he drops kisses on her head, "...Definitely should stay out of Etta's room."

"Pervert !" she smacks his chest playfully, as he runs a hand through the length of her hair.

"Your hair's gotten really long." He absently remarks as he plays with a strand of gold, which almost reaches her lower back now.

"That's because I haven't had the time to get a haircut in about six months. We haven't even done grocery shopping in over three weeks. Do you know that there's no food in the house?" she tells him, her focus suddenly on that little domestic concern. "We need to go to the supermarket, like tomorrow, without fail."

"Sure…" he nuzzles her crown, only half listening to her.

"No seriously, you need to remind me. We have to go tomorrow, no matter what." She tells him breaking away from him, looking so concerned, that Peter can't help but laugh.

"We'll do that then," he tells her, "It's not the end of the world to not have food in the house."

"Umm remember the three year old that we're legally required to feed and clothe? Etta's been eating defrosted crap and spaghetti for the last four days Peter."

"She loves spaghetti." he reminds her.

"But it's not healthy for her to eat it every day. She needs to eat vegetables and other good things which she can't because we haven't found the time to go buy any." She says agitatedly, all her passion being doused out by the hundred different things that she remembers they have to buy.

"How is that I have a half-naked woman between my legs and she's coming apart in my arms one second and now all she wants to do is talk about grocery shopping?" he asks her shaking his head, "This would never happen in Montreal you know."

"Because people there somehow don't need to eat?" she asks him smiling.

"No because there we would have time to go to the supermarket and maybe even get haircuts regularly." he takes her hand, squeezing it softly.

"Sounds like two great reasons to move," she tells him echoing his wistfulness.

"Say the words and I'll make it happen." He tells her seriously.

She brings her hand to his face, cupping it gently, and she can see the longing there. "As much as I am tempted to say yes… I think I'll pass."

"Are you sure? Think about how perfect it could be?" he asks her, a sad smile on his face, knowing she wasn't going to say yes anyway.

It had been a daydream.

"Oh I am sure it'll be great. But it won't be perfect because as insane as this job is, it lets me be with you all day, at all times and not having you by my side would simply be unacceptable. Peter…I," she struggles with the words, wanting him to know just how much she needed him. Needed him to watch her back when they went out to face the dangers of the world together, to take care of her when they came back home bruised and battered, to make her laugh and feel passion and let her dream of absurd fantasies of other lives they could have.

"I know…" he whispers, kissing her on the forehead, understanding all that she could never bring herself to tell him.

"You know what would be perfect though," she shakes off the thoughts, her voice turning playful, her hands coming to clasp his as she pushes into his embrace, feeling the resurgence of heat between their bodies.

"Your damn bra coming off already?" He asks, staring at the offensive garment that still clung to her despite the fact that he'd done everything to facilitate its divestment.

"That would be a good start," she tells him, hunching her shoulders slightly in a graceful, seductive move as the bra skids down her breasts to her navel in a practiced fall. She doesn't miss the way Peter sharply inhales, seemingly mesmerized at the sight of her. Laughing at the effect that seeing her body has on him, even after all these years, she takes his hands and brings them to her chest, allowing his palms to feel the skin.

"And now that we have taken care of that," she bites her lip, feeling him cupping her breasts in his palms, "I was thinking we could go upstairs and you could make love to me against every surface of our bedroom, both hard and soft."

His eyes turn to blue fire at that, and wordlessly he lifts her off the stool, hoisting her into his arms effortlessly, in a smooth gesture suited to a sappy romance novel, and she has to resist the urge to chide him for being so clichéd at times. He brings his lips to her, crushing them in a way that communicated the want that every part of his body was screaming to her.

"... and Peter…" she whispers, when his lips leave her ever so briefly as he's walking up the stair case, her still in his arms.

"Yeah…"

"That _is _a dare…"


	9. Chapter 9

Olivia shivers in her sleep, feeling a jet of cold air hit her spine.

Frowning she feels for her blankets which are still around her, except now they don't seem to be keeping her as warm as earlier and have slid down to her waist. She misses the distinct lack of a second body against her back, and turns over grumbling in her sleep, pulling up her blankets and moving out of habit towards Peter's side of the bed…

…only to encounter more empty mattress and an overturned duvet, cold to touch.

She cracks open an eyelid to look in the direction of the bathroom, looking for the telltale sign of light from under the door, but he's not in there.

_Maybe he's gone downstairs to get a drink of water_, she thinks sleepily, closing her eyes again and hoping he'll join her in their bed soon so that she could cuddle up to him and be warmed up. She really does hate being cold.

Before she can fall asleep, she hears his voice, softer than usual, almost faraway.

"I mean I know everyone says the original is always better, but in this case you really have to go with Philip Kaufman over Don Siegel. Though make no mistake, both of them will scare you out of your mind equally."

And Olivia opens her eyes at that, more than annoyed that Peter's giving her movie recommendations in the middle of the night. But he's not there and she looks around confusedly ready to chew him out for interrupting her sleep, considering how little of it she manages to get nowadays with a newborn keeping her up most nights.

When she realizes that his slightly hushed voice is coming through the baby monitor.

"So what else… oh yeah Star Trek. Always awesome in any shape or form or version. Period. Though your mom disagrees with me on that. I see it is a minor character flaw, nothing unfixable."

She hears a slight rustle of a diaper being ripped and she can hear Etta's murmur, as if in response to whatever it is Peter's telling her about.

"Now don't squirm around so much, sweetheart. I am kinda new at this and I am hoping that the two of us can get through this without your mom having to rescue us. I mean I know she's pretty awesome at this, but then she has an unfair advantage because she's done stuff like this before with your cousin Ella. I actually have never even held a baby before you." he laughs quietly at that admission.

"Guess that has you pretty bathed in confidence huh?" he asks, tentatively, almost like he's expecting the infant to answer.

And Olivia feels a smile pull at her lips; she picks up the baby monitor on the nightstand and brings it closer to her, so she can hear his faint voice better, unable to go back to sleep, wanting to eavesdrop on this conversation, essentially a monologue.

"Yeah… but don't worry sweetheart. I am gonna be great at this. I have a really steep learning curve. At least that's what all my report cards would say. Plus it's not like you've got a lot of choice. I am the only dad you've got, given that there no doubles of me running around in parallel universes like in the case of your mom or grandpa."

Etta's cooing now and Olivia can almost picture her blue eyes, rapt with attention taking in everything Peter's saying.

"So you and I are in this together alright. You're already doing pretty great in that you're literally the smartest and most beautiful baby in the entire world," she hears him chuckle with pride and knows he's smiling, "And personally I think this parenting thing is going to turn out to be a breeze. I have it all worked out. You can go to your mom for things like lipstick, puberty and advice on boys or you know girls…. if you end up straying that way which I am totally cool with by the way, but for everything else you come to me okay?"

"Also rules are her thing, not a fan of those and if it were up to me we wouldn't really have any, because I for one think it's an international crime to deny you anything….ever. But strangely Olivia is not of the same opinion. Yeah I know…. it's crazy and here you thought she loved you unconditionally right?"

And Olivia can't help a laugh at his words as he presses on, "Anyway so your mom is kinda big on stupid stuff like discipline and boundaries and I am sort of obligated to support her on it partly because it's how relationships work and mostly because she carries a gun and can start fires with her mind and crossing her is not a wise move. I've seen horrible things happen to people who try. But you should know, if your little baby brains can remember this when you're a teenager and hating me for some curfew that we slapped on you that my hand was definitely forced…"

Etta obviously approved, because she's making happy gurgling noises and Olivia has to roll her eye. Of course she would take her father's side.

"Though of course you're my kid and you'll probably know how to get around rules by the time you're out of your diapers speaking of which… you're all diapered up in and in one attempt at that. This is a key moment for me, I feel a hi five coming on do you? I'll walk you through it. See you take your little hand and push it against mine… just like that, there you go. Look at me already imparting knowledge."

Olivia hears Etta yawn noisily and Peter laughs quietly again.

"I know… I know, it's a lot of stuff to cover in twenty minutes…come here." He obviously has her in his arms now, and she can picture him rocking her gently to sleep, humming disjointed words of a lullaby that she didn't even know he was familiar with and its feels her with a sense of contentment, hearing the soothing quality of his voice. She closes her eyes too, feeling lulled at the sound of his voice.

"I still can't believe how small you really are…" he's talking to her again after a few moments, though it's a little more than a whisper and Olivia's fairly sure Etta's already fallen asleep in his arms. She has to strain her ears to listen…

"You're barely the size of a nugget and yet you scare me more than that giant machine I got into to save the universes. True story, I'll tell you sometime. But yeah… I am really afraid I am going to screw this up with you. Actually I know I am going to screw this up because face it, it's me we're talking about and I don't exactly have the greatest track record of not letting down the people I love and care about. But hopefully, your mom will keep me from inflicting any permanent damage. "

His tone is a lot more serious, and echoes the concern that he's obviously feeling.

"She's amazing you know, your mom, despite the fact that she doesn't appreciate the awesomeness of Star Trek." She hears him continue, more like he's talking to himself. " There's really nobody who can do the things that she can, except when it comes to having fun, which sadly is a concept she doesn't understand, something you and I are going to have to work on. But all things considered you can't really do better than having Olivia Dunham for a mom. And I hope for your sake, you end up being more like her than me sweetheart…"

Her heart constricts at the way he says it, so sadly…

"There's just so much I've done in my life that I am not proud of and there's not a day in your Mom's life that you couldn't find to not be proud of her and I think that should tell you whom you should want to make your role model. I just hope that maybe you'll be able to look at me someday and find that you're a little bit as proud of me as you can be of her. Even if it's just for something like building you an awesome tree house which fyi I have like fifteen different floor plans ready for already."

The joke is a poor cover up for the doubt in his voice, and Olivia almost wants to get up from bed and go to him, to assure him that he wasn't worth of the self-disparagement he was treating himself to.

"So anyway, seeing as you're off in dream land already, I think I'll stop and let you sleep for a couple of hours before you wake up crying your head off and we do this all over again. Thanks for being such a good listener though. It's good to know I can tell you anything… like I used to be able to do with my mom. It's a shame you never got to meet her… she was so great and she would have loved you very much... just like I do."

"Goodnight sweetheart, sleep tight." she hears Peter whisper to their child, the term of endearment that sounds so different from when he had first used it on her. She hears the sound of his bare feet fading away as he's obviously leaving the nursery and returning to their bedroom. She meets his eyes as he walks in through the bedroom.

"What're you doing up?" he whispers, before crawling into his side of bed, immediately bringing back with him the warmth that was already spreading into the mattress, the lack of which had awoken her in the first place. She wordlessly moves closer, as he pulls her into his embrace that envelopes her in a cocoon of serenity and she can't help thinking how she had managed to sleep in an empty bed before him.

"I was listening in on the little therapy session that you had going on with a two-week old baby. Fascinating stuff." she mumbles sleepily against his chest, feeling her eyelids drag downwards.

"That was a private conversation…. You crashed an important father-daughter bonding moment." His chest rises in a quiet chuckle, and there's really not any disapproval in his voice, and she can sense that his eyes are closed now and he's already falling asleep.

"Well then maybe you shouldn't have had it near a baby monitor, Mr. I have an IQ of 190." She moves closer to him, and he pulls the covers around them tightly.

"I'll keep that in mind the next time… " he yawns half way through the sentence and Olivia knows he's really beat, but she can't help wanting him to know.

"Peter..." she whispers

"Hmmm…"

"You know Etta's going to proud of you right? She has lots of reasons to be." she tells him, her hand gently stroking his chest.

"She also has lots of reasons not to be..." he tells her evenly. " Go to sleep, Liv." He absently presses a kiss to her head.

"You said to Etta that you could tell her anything….like you could with your mom. How come you can't talk to me about anything?" She asks, a little hurt with the way he ends the conversation.

"Liv, I tell you everything. Full disclosure remember?"

"It's not the same thing as wanting to tell me..."

"I don't see the difference between the two and it's too late in the night to get into this right now. You need to get some rest honey and let me do the same." He says his voice clearly reluctant to carry on this conversation.

"Okay..." she whispers, "Sorry I asked, goodnight." She presses a kiss to his chest and tries to fall asleep.

"It's not because I don't want to." he tells her after a few minutes have passed, and his hands are now gently tracing her back, "I just don't want to pile on my anxieties to yours."

"But you have no reason to have those anxieties. You're a great father, despite whatever you think."

"Yeah, the thing is Liv, daddy issues and the Bishops sort of go together, one doesn't exist without the other." He says dryly. "And it really scares me to think that Etta could spend a significant portion of her life hating me the way I hated Walter."

"You have nothing to worry about. Trust me. I know the way she feels about you remember. I could sense it even before she was born. And if that's any indication, she's going to worship the earth you walk on, just like every other woman who lays eyes on you."

"Like mother, like daughter huh?" He can't help quip.

"Don't push it. I am trying to be nice here." She smiles though. "My point is you haven't let me down ever, not even once."

"We both know that's not true…" he begins to say.

"And we both know that wasn't your fault." Olivia stops him before he can go_ there_, "You didn't let me down, you didn't let Walter down and you certainly won't let Etta down. She's not going to grow up to resent you."

"You promise..." he asks her wistfully and she moves her hand to find his that's snaked around her and gives it a reassuring squeeze."

"I promise…" she says, "If anything, I see that happening with me. Mothers and daughters tend to have fairly contentious relationships even at the best of times. It's tragically Freudian." She shakes her head resignedly.

"And here I thought the two of you would be like Gilmore Girls." He says and Olivia can't prevent the snort that escapes her at the reference.

"Oh my God, _you_ actually watched that show?" she teases him, "Who are you?"

"I didn't say I watched it. It's just that I caught a couple of episodes a long time ago when there was nothing on TV…" Peter tries to explain uncomfortably…

"What next Bishop? Are you going to tell me you watched Dawson's Creek every Sunday too, because there was nothing on TV?"

"What no… God no… I would never… just shut up okay." He says a little too defensively and Olivia can't help but giggle.

"You didn't tell me you were actually a teenage girl on the inside. That explains so much really…"

"Liv… that's enough."

"But this is great don't you see because now you and Etta can bond over old WB reruns and moon over Joshua Jackson together." She laughs helplessly into his chest, unable to hide her mirth. It's one of the few times she's managed to best him and put him on the receiving end of snarky comments and she wants to milk it for all its worth.

"I don't even know who you're talking about and can we please go to sleep now? I've spilled my parenting anxieties to you and you've managed to make a joke out of it. This is why I don't tell you stuff you know." he sounds slightly hurt and Olivia can almost see his pout even though she technically still has her eyes closed.

"Just taking a page out of your book… sweetheart." She pats his thigh absently; unable to keep the sleep at bay any longer.

"Call me sweetheart one more time, I'd really like that."

They're both asleep in the next minute.


	10. Chapter 10

Olivia runs her hand wistfully over the silky fabric of the dress that hangs in her closet, one of the rare outfits in her possession that isn't some hue of black, grey or white. It's a beautiful shade of olive green, gifted to her by her sister a couple of years on her birthday.

"_It matches your eyes, Liv. You'll look sensational in it."_

She remembers thanking Rachel with a small smile, touched by the thoughtfulness of the gesture, even while knowing the high possibility of her never getting to wear it.

An intuition proven right…. given that the outfit in question has done much else but hang in her closet since the day she unwrapped it.

It's not a fussy garment that sought to shout to the world of its existence. Its clean lines and understated elegance, the kind of dress you can wear without feeling you're on display and still make a statement.

The kind of dress you could wear on a date…. Olivia thinks absently, smiling a little bit to herself.

A date was what she had tonight after all. A proper actual date involving a reservation for two and silver ware and napkins and some ambient lighting.

For a second the anticipation of it makes her feel lightheaded, almost like a giddy teenager.

* * *

When Peter had suggested it to her two days ago at breakfast, she had looked at him with rife amusement.

"A date? You want to go on a date?" She had asked him, as she tried to calm a squirming Etta in her arms, getting her to be still as she coaxed her to take the bottle.

"You don't have to sound shocked. It's not an unheard concept." He said wryly, looking up from his bowl of cereal.

"No, but we don't really do that…like ever." She said trying hard to think of a time when they had been on anything that could be considered a conventional date. They might have probably got around having a few of those in the beginning of their relationship if they hadn't been so consumed by the need to have their hands all over each other in the precious little time they got to have together, something which really couldn't be done in public, better facilitated in the privacy of one of their houses.

And then of course Peter had to go and get himself erased from time….

"Well it's always good to try new things…" He said, and then looked at her with concern bringing his hand to his chin as if in contemplation, cocking his eyebrow slyly "You do know what a date is right?"

"Yes Peter I know what a date is." She scowled at his grin. "I just don't particularly see the need for dressing up and going to a fancy restaurant for overpriced drinks and food and sit around all night trying to get to know each other. We're a little past that stage wouldn't you say?" she had asked, her eyes drifting towards Etta, who was happily sucking away at her bottle, bringing her thumb to wipe away a little bit of the formula that was dribbling down her daughter's chin.

"We're not past that stage honey. We skipped it altogether." He shakes his head. "And there is nothing in the rulebook that says we can't rewind for a while and act like a normal couple and enjoy some fine dining, great wine and flirtatious banter."

"Oh I don't know… dates have never been my thing Peter." She had said remembering how inept she was at these rituals of courtship, always having preferred to simply get into relationships with men she already knew well enough to negate these romantic procedures altogether. She didn't think she'd do very well at this sort of play acting after all this time, even if it happened to be with the father of her child.

"You only say that because you've never been on a date with me." He'd countered her with a cocky grin. "I am great on dates and I happen to know that for a fact."

"Let me guess, they all put out on the first night?" She asked knowingly.

"Pretty much…" he laughed. " So what do you say Liv? Come on it'll be fun. You'll have a great time. Personal guarantee."

"What about the baby?" She reminded him. "We can't just leave her."

"Yeah, that's a bit of puzzler huh?" He'd said looking pensive, pursing his lips as if he was considering her question with utmost seriousness and then as if he'd suddenly had a radical thought, he'd spoken again, "You know Liv...long long ago when parents realized they'd go insane if they had to spend every breathing moment with their kids they came up with this idea of babysitters. I don't know if you've heard of it but apparently it involves paying someone to watch your offspring for a pre-agreed duration of time while you do something else."

"And you wonder why I won't go out with you?" she glared at him, fighting a smile at his lengthy quip.

"No I just wonder why you'll do everything but go out with me? I mean you obviously must like me to live with me and sleep with me and have my child, but a nice evening at a restaurant is obviously where you draw the line?"

"Fine…" she had rolled her eyes at him. " If it'll shut you up. But you better make it the best damn date ever. Because if I have to go through the trouble of doing my hair and wearing makeup and high heels only to be disappointed… even just a little bit, there'll be hell to pay Bishop."

"Oh just you wait woman…" he'd said, leaning across the table to pull her lips into a kiss.

"You're in for the night of your life. Just tell me Italian or French and I'll take care of the rest."

"Surprise me…" she'd whispered against his lips, not able to hide the excitement in her voice.

* * *

Somehow in the past two days since that discussion, the promise of this evening has become important to her. She wants to experience this with him. Pushing aside her misgivings she pulls the dress out of her closet.

She slips out of her bathrobe and rummages through her underwear drawer to find a pair of bra and panties that will work with the dress. Hesitantly, almost unsurely she steps into the dress, pulling it up cautiously not knowing if it'll even fit her. After all, her body has gone through childbirth just a few months before.

But it does fit, exceedingly well actually and she can't help smile as she pulls the straps up to her shoulders, staring at her reflection in the mirror for a minute, chewing her lip absently, thinking how weird it was for her to be doing this whole routine.

"What do you think baby girl?" she asks turning towards the bed where Etta was sitting on her blanket, chewing away happily on a well abused FisherPrice teething toy. "You think your daddy will approve?"

She gets an enthusiastic head to body nod from her daughter in response.

"Yeah... hopefully he'll recognize me in this." She shakes her head walking over to the bed and sinking into the mattress on her back. She absently reaches out her hand to Etta who immediately drops the slob covered ring of comically large plastic keys to grab for it with her own chubby fingers.

"It's stupid isn't it? I mean the two of us have known each for half a decade and I am sitting here wondering if Peter will like my hair pulled up or down." She says staring at the ceiling and then turns on her side, looking at Etta with a thoughtful expression who has now deemed her mother's fingers to be an acceptable change from her toy and is putting them into her mouth.

"I gotta tell you something sweetheart, your parents make a very weird couple and that's understating… a lot. I don't even know when it is that we're supposed to celebrate our anniversary and that has to be ridiculous in itself. Hopefully your love life won't turn out to be such a complete disaster. That is as long as you don't fall for somebody from another universe because speaking from experience that tends to really complicate things."

Etta's scrunches her nose at her in incomprehension and in a seeming fit of inspiration, picks up her teething toy and offers it to Olivia who can't help laughing.

"Thank you baby." She leans forward to drop a kiss on Etta's nose. "But I am afraid I don't find that as helpful and entertaining as you obviously do. Your daddy's right about you though. You really are a good listener. Now how about you help me decide on some shoes?"

Twenty minutes later she's applying the finishing touches to her makeup, when her cellphone rings. Absently, she picks it up knowing its Peter.

"Hi, are you on your way? I am almost ready and the sitter's already here..." she says without preamble.

There is silence on the other end and then she hears his dejected voice speak, "On a scale of one to ten, how much are you going to hate me tonight?"

"That depends on what reason you're going to give me. Did you let Walter open a portal to another dimension because then we're talking twelve at least?" she asks lightly, already feeling trepidation rise in her heart.

"Worse… I am stuck in the lab and we're not going to be able to make our dinner reservation." He says and she can picture the crease on his forehead that always pops up when he's feeling less than okay.

"Oh…." She tries to keep the disappointment out of her voice.

"Yeah, Broyles wants these diagnostics done at any cost by today and it's going to take us at least another hour maybe more. Liv… I am really sorry."

"Don't worry its fine." She tells him, reaching out for a tissue to wipe the lipstick of her face, trying hard not to feel bad.

"No it's not fine. I made a big deal of this and I know you were looking forward to tonight and… I am sorry for disappointing you."

"Hey it's okay. It's not your fault and I've done this to you too many times myself to claim any high ground. Just come home when you're done and we'll order a pizza or something okay." She says, standing up, already stepping out her shoes.

"Actually I was hoping we could still do this if you're up to it. Though it may not be as romantic as I'd hoped for it to be."

"Peter its really okay. It's Friday night and there's not going to be a single place in the city we can go to without a reservation or waiting in line for 30 minutes, plus there's going to be traffic. We can try another time I promise."

"I know we can sweetheart, but I really wanted for us to do this tonight. Just indulge me and meet me at this address in about an hour and a half. You have a pen nearby?"

"Yeah…"

* * *

_I really give into him too easily_… she thinks.

It's how she finds herself walking towards the corner booth of the Cambridge bar that Peter is sitting at, trying not to feel conscious of the fact that she looked terribly out of place there, given the way she was dressed.

The Irish pub he'd asked her to meet him at isn't shabby by any means but it's a far cry from the classy restaurant that she had dolled up for and she keeps thinking she should have changed, definitely wiped off the makeup at the very least.

But the look on Peter's face when he takes in the sight of her assures her a little bit. He looks really tired, worked to the bone no doubt and yet the way he seems to light up when he looks at her makes her feel glad that she didn't lose the finery after all.

"Thank you for coming." He says, taking her hand as she sits beside him, pulling her in for a kiss.

"Well, you made it sound like our lives depended on it. Plus the sitter doesn't do refunds. So…" she shrugs, feeling his other arm coming up from behind to rest on her shoulder as he fingers a strap of her dress

"You look fantastic." he says not letting go of her hand. "Green looks beautiful on you. Sorry it's wasted on a place like this though." He says apologetically, genuinely looking chagrined at the way things turned out.

"Well, I didn't exactly dress up for the place. I did it for you." She turns towards him offering him a comforting smile. "And your reaction tells me that it was anything but wasted.

"Far from it, in fact I would ravish you in this very instant if we were alone… believe me." He presses a kiss to her shoulder, "You look good enough to eat."

"I hope you're planning on feeding me some real food, because cannibalism is not going to work for me." She says dryly, picking up the drink he's already ordered for her and bringing it to her lips.

"Oh I had so much planned for tonight Liv. You would have loved it. Dinner with a side of jazz at this really great place, overlooking the waterfront. It's booked up like months in advance."

"Let me guess, you know a guy?" she asks taking a sip of her drink.

"Well yeah, but he didn't exactly know me given that I sort of got erased and stuff. But I still got us a great table. And then we were going to go dancing. Unfortunately all that seems to have been a total wash." He shakes his head sadly. "I am sure this was not where you were expecting to end up. But it's close to campus and their kitchen stays open late and it's really the only option I could think of that would work at this hour. You can hold this over me for all of eternity, I promise." He smiles at her, squeezing her hand in his.

She brings her hand to his stubble and doesn't say anything for a moment.

She remembers the time they had gone out for drinks after returning from Jacksonville in a pub very similar to this one. How excited she had been at the thought of spending that evening with him. It was the first time that she'd admitted to herself the truth about how she felt about him, let herself indulge in her feelings for him, feelings that were there to stay.

But that night was also the reckoning of a different truth, the knowledge of his existence, of who he was and it had undone her at her very core. And even though he had been nothing but great company, she had barely made it through the ordeal of having to laugh at his jokes while feeling like she would explode with the secret at any given moment.

She had cried that night for the things that she knew.

But now she had him. She had all of him and she had long ago realized that there was no resentment in the world worth holding onto if it meant not being with him.

Whether it meant overcoming her own vulnerabilities and his unintended betrayal or letting him off the hook for a less than exemplary dinner date.

"Hmm I could do that couldn't I?" she says finally, "Or I could just sit here all night and be dazzled by your so called prowess at these things. Go ahead Peter; I am waiting to be impressed."

"Are you serious?" He asks her, chuckling. "I am fairly sure I've missed the bus on impressing you tonight. I'll just settle for not letting Friday night be a complete disaster."

"Well that's not good enough for me. I told you this had to be the best damn date ever remember? Now I am willing to give you a pass on the change in location and the tardiness but unless you woo me with all you've got, chances are you won't be getting lucky tonight." She tells him, unable to help the smile pulling at her lips.

"Is that right?" he asks.

"Absolutely, you see unlike all your past conquests, I don't put out that easily and definitely never on the first night." She shakes her head in emphasis

" No… you just invite yourself into a man's house, get him drunk, take him by the hand to his bedroom and then put out… three times." He deadpans and then after a small pause gives her a sardonic grin.

"Shut up." She warns him, unable to stop herself from laughing, her spirits already uplifted.

She realizes in that moment it's really about him and not the place. She could care less if they were at the Plaza sipping champagne right now…. because she'll feel the same way that she does in this slightly run down, hardly romantic bar that's overflowing with Harvard graduate students, looking to blow steam off after a long week of classes.

Completely in love with him... butterflies and all.

"You can't do that, use past information against me," she says straightening up, "we're supposed to be on a date, getting to know each other."

"Right sorry…" he gestures with his hand and then moves in closer to her personal space, his hand now warm against her and just the small change in position quickens her breath a little, as does the expression on his face which changes into something she hasn't seen in some time, a hint of the Peter Bishop she'd met so long ago, the rakishness almost gleaming in his eyes, his voice low and dangerous, his fingers lazily skirting over her wrist.

And Olivia thinks to herself that there's no way she won't be not putting out tonight.

"So then Olivia Dunham… tell me something about yourself. "


	11. Chapter 11

Olivia frowns unhappily at the darkening patch of red, now almost violet, skin on her neck as she looks at her reflection in the mirror of her dresser. It stands out starkly, a violent contrast to the rest of her paleness.

She brings her fingers up to feel the mutilated spot and then rubs it furiously, hoping against hope that the blush will recede.

Something about hope breeding eternal misery….

"Look at what you've done. I hope you're happy." She turns around to look at the man responsible for inflicting the damage, who doesn't look the least bit contrite.

In fact he looks all too pleased with himself and the smirk plastered all over his face only seeks to infuriate her as he quips, "Oh I am very happy sweetheart. Couldn't be happier right now if I tried. You however look less than peachy."

The allusion is not lost on her and she rolls her eyes at him. "Of course I am not you idiot. You gave me a freaking hickey."

"Yes I did, pretty big one too…" he says grinning, stretching on the bed lazily, letting the blankets slide down his bare chest a little more, looking in admiration towards her bruised skin.

"I can't believe that you're actually proud of your handiwork?" She asks incredulously. "That is so prehistoric Peter. Honestly."

He simply laughs at that…. "We're not as evolved a gender as you'd like to think we are honey."

"You obviously find this very funny…" she says disapprovingly, turning away to look at herself in the mirror with a worried expression.

"Well not in a pie in your face kind of way but the situation does have a certain potential for humor. I take it you don't see that." He asks, raking a hand through his hair as he throws his head back on the pillows and closes his eyes for a brief second.

He's never been one to be up so early in the mornings. But over the years, he's become accustomed to matching his inner clock with hers. And he's learnt to like this time of day a lot, when he can have Olivia all to himself away from work or the banal concerns of domesticity or the rambunctious toddler who takes up a lot of their time.

"No I don't because unlike you I don't just work with an eccentric scientist with no filtering system. I actually have other coworkers and I can't walk into my office with your indiscretions branded all over my throat for the whole world to see." He hears her say as she scowls at him.

"My indiscretions?" Peter sits up, slouching backwards until his back finds the head board… "I don't recall you protesting even a little bit when I was being indiscreet last night, not one word. If anything you were rather vocal about how much you enjoyed it. " He points out, the smirk back on his face as he takes in the adorable blush flooding her cheeks.

"And come to think of it. What about your indiscretions?" He teases, "I have teeth marks made by you in about ten different places on my chest alone. It's like I am mating with the vampire mistress."

If it's possible in that moment, her face turns a shade deeper than the hickey on her neck and for a Peter thinks he's got her in that instant. But she turns the tables around, her voice stern, even while struggling to hide her amusement.

"That's different... I didn't leave any marks that couldn't be covered by clothing because I didn't forget that we're not in high school anymore. I actually have some sense of control." She says.

"That's great for you then Liv…" he says evenly, "I however have no shame in admitting that control is the last thing on my mind when I happen to be around your naked body." He's looking at said naked body now and Olivia feels his gaze roam over her with thinly veiled desire, over the explosion of freckles on her breasts and the flat expanse of her midriff, over the single fading stretch mark on her right abdomen, a retainer of her pregnancy, his eyes move downwards and she senses the warmth building up inside her as well.

"Stop that." She says shaking her head. "It's not going to happen. I am too mad at you for morning sex." As if to make her point, she picks up his discarded grey shirt from the floor and slips it on and begins to fasten the buttons on.

"How is that you're acquiring more clothing than losing it and I find myself even more turned on?" he asks her, mesmerized by the sight of the buttons slowly popping into their holes, as she pulls the garment around herself. He loves it when she wears his shirts, the way they hang on her tiny frame, bulky sleeves flowing out even after covering the length of her arms and hands, ill-fitting in every way possible and the way she manages to look irresistible in spite of that, the way her scent will leave its indelible signature on the cotton, blending with his own.

It's more erotic to him than any frilly scrap of lingerie.

"Haven't we already established that your brains are about as sex-addled as that of 16 year old." She says, as she slips into bed next to him and stretches out without a hint of self-awareness, her thighs peeking out from under the shirt becomingly, one leg crossed over, as she chews on her lower lip absently.

And Peter can't help thinking that anyone who is so unaware of their movements and the havoc it creates on him … has to know on some level exactly what they're doing.

He turns towards her, pushing away the collar of her shirt slightly, reaching under the fabric to feel the tender patch of skin that bears the mark of his excess, his fingers delicately tracing around it.

"I didn't hurt you did I?" he asks hesitantly as he examines her neck, a hint of worry in his voice.

"No…" she shakes her head, unable to help a soft smile at his concern.

He bends down to place a gentle, almost chaste kiss on the spot, a complete departure from the ardor he had exhibited just a few hours ago.

"Better?" He asks, like he does with their daughter when she comes home from the park with a scrapped knee and asks her daddy to kiss it and make it better.

"Much…" she whispers closing her eyes at the soothing touch of his fingertips against her skin, as she leans back into her pillows.

"For he bruises, and binds up: he wounds, and his hands make whole..."

The words sound apt, so right and yet when she recognizes the source of them, she can't help but opens her eyes to look at him with disbelief.

"Did you just quote from the Bible?" She asks unable to stop the laugh that escapes her, "Isn't that a bit sacrilegious …. Even for you?"

"You can only be sacrilegious if you think that there is something sacrosanct." He points out and Olivia can't help but laugh again

"You are so going to burn in hell; you know that," she jokes, "if nothing than for your sexual depravity… and I am talking serious hell….. Like Dante's ninth circle of hell."

"Well it's a good thing I don't believe in hell then, as much as I love Dante that is…" he shrugs. " And if there does turn out to be one… well at least I'll have a fun ride till there." He smirks, pulling her closer for a kiss, their foreheads touching.

"You know… there is more than one form of worshipping what we hold in reverence…" he says seriously, looking at her with something that Olivia recognizes but can't quite pinpoint…something close to… devotion. " There is more than one way to seek penance, to atone, to find redemption…"

"So what are you saying? That I am the one to save your soul?" She asks trying to make light of it, taken aback by the intensity in his eyes.

"I am saying that you've already saved me…" he whispers against her lips and before she can let herself be overwhelmed by the power of his words, he uses his favorite nickname for her, the one he likes to tease her with… "sweetheart."

It's flippant the way it comes out and it almost makes it seem like a joke.

Almost…

"Well then, far from it be my place to deny a pious man his redemption." She says, pulling him closer to the point where his larger frame covers her smaller person.

"Is that your super pretentious way of saying you want to have morning sex after all?" he asks, plunging into the nook of her neck with fierce kisses. "Coz honey let's do it again works just as fine."

"Well we can't let you have all the fun with words now can we?" she asks biting her lip as she melts into the assault of his mouth against her skin, her hands coming up to his nape as she tugs at his hair.

He looks up at her with an expression of pure mischief, "Speaking of fun, would you like a matching hickey on the other side of your neck?" He asks.

"Not unless it's the last thing you ever want to do to my neck, or any other part of my body." She says, pulling his lips into a kiss before he can do any more damage to her neck with his mouth. She feels his hands traverse a downwards path her body, finding their way under the shirt she had insisted on putting on. He moans into her mouth, as his hands find her breasts and she pushes against him with a rapidly growing need that's making her heady.

An incessant knocking on the door breaks her daze as she hears Etta's loud voice from the other side of the bedroom.

"Mommy, daddy let me in…"

She hears Peter almost whimper in disappointment, as he rolls away from Olivia and she can't deny she feels the same way a little bit.

"Your daughter has the worst timing in the world." He shakes his head resignedly, bringing his elbow over his head.

"She's just my daughter now huh?" Olivia asks smiling as she throws him his boxers from the floor. She reaches under the blankets feeling for her own panties and quickly slides them on, glad that the door was locked.

They had learnt their lesson after the first time; Etta had crashed into their room only to find her parents in the middle of a torrid make out session. Thankfully their clothes had been on at the time, though the explanation part of it had been painful.

"When she's being this annoying this early in the morning…yeah." Peter says pulling up his boxers and looking around blindly for a shirt. "It's not even fully light outside." He says, walking up to the hamper to pull out a t shirt, which he quickly slips on.

"Do you think she'll go away if we're quiet?" He asks a little wistfully.

Before Olivia can answer his question, there is more knocking from the door.

"Daddy…. Let me in please…" Etta yells loudly, her voice shrill and pleading at the same time.

"You better get that before she brings the house down." Olivia says, helpless to hide her amusement.

Peter looks at her with a look of put on suffering before walking over to open the door to find their three year old in her purple jammies, looking up at him with a beatific smile, as if she hadn't just knocked on their door like she was being chased by wild dogs.

"Etta honey, what are you doing up so early?" Peter asks shaking his head, as he rubs his forehead with the back of his palm, suddenly feeling the tiredness of last night's exertions hit him with force.

"Sun woke me up…" she shrugs at him, before running headlong to clamber onto the bed to join her mother with a speed that could put an Olympian to shame. She makes razor fast work of crawling through the overturned blankets before reaching Olivia and snuggling up to her.

"Did you hear that, Liv? Sun woke her up…" He says dryly, meeting Olivia's eyes, as she smiles at him before lifting Etta up slightly to settle her on her knees, bringing a hand to tuck a strand of her blond hair behind her ear.

"The sun woke you up huh? Well, why don't you try and close your eyes and see if you can go back to sleep for just a little longer. Otherwise, you're going to feel really sleepy later." She tells her coaxingly, knowing it was of little avail. Etta was as much of a morning person as she was, up like a lark and buzzing with energy at the beginning of each day.

Predictably the little girl shakes her head stubbornly before her focus zeroes in on something else. "Mommy, you're wearing daddy's shirt." Her daughter tells her observantly, as she brings her arms around her neck.

"Yes, I am….aren't I?" Olivia says smiling, bringing her little face closer to rub her nose against hers.

"Why?" Etta asks scrunching her face at her, in the way she always did when she didn't understand something. She hears Peter snort audibly at the question, as he returns to their bed, sinking into the mattress next to her.

"That's a great question honey. Answer her will you Liv, please?" He says, grinning at her and Olivia shoots him a stern look, before turning towards Etta.

"I am wearing his shirt because I love your daddy … and I love wearing his shirts." She tells her simply, nudging her nose with her finger "Okay?"

"Okay..." Etta nods, understanding the simple truth of the sentence, before her eyes grow wide as they land on something else.

"Mommy you're hurt..." she gasps, her little face rife with worry.

"I am fine honey; nothing to worry about… " Olivia tells her hastily pulling the collar around her neck to cover up the hickey, that no doubt Etta has seen.

Peter clears his throat uncomfortably besides her.

"What happened to you?" she asks her, putting her hands on either side of Olivia's face with so much concern that she can't help laughing as she presses a swift kiss to her temple.

" Now that is a great question." She tells her before lifting Etta up from her embrace and effortlessly shifting her onto Peter's lap. She gets up from bed feeling the call of her bladder a little too strongly to stay put there any longer.

"Answer her will you Peter, please?" She flashes a triumphant smile at him before making her way to the bathroom. She turns around before closing the door, dissolving into quiet laughs at the sight of her husband completely at a loss of words for once in his life, as Etta looks on at him expectantly.

"Umm…. Uh… you see there was this raccoon at the window… and … it sort of…"


	12. Chapter 12

"How long did they say the power would be out?" Peter asks Olivia as she bends down to light the pillar candle on their coffee table.

"At least all night, maybe longer…" She looks around the living room to see if the light from the two other burning candles sufficiently illuminate their surroundings. Satisfied she clicks the gas lighter off and settles down on the couch next to Peter, reaching out to grab the bowl of popcorn.

"What are we going to do now daddy?" Etta asks, looking up at her father from her spot on his lap.

"I am afraid, we can't do anything sweetheart. We'll watch the movie when the power comes back tomorrow okay." He nudges her nose lightly with his finger.

"Hmmm… okay." She sighs understandingly but still unable to keep her disappointment to herself and Peter feels a faint sense of rage at the power company for interrupting their movie night and ruining his daughter's happiness.

"I know, how about a story? Would you like that?" he asks her, pulling away strands of hair from her face.

"Yes." She nods enthusiastically, almost immediately bouncing back from her momentary sadness, like only four year olds were capable of doing. "But you have to tell me a new story daddy, and it has to a be a real one." She stresses, making her blue eyes wide with emphasis.

"A real story huh? Let me think." Peter scratches his stubble and then looks at his wife, busy contemplating a kernel of popcorn in her hand before she puts it into her mouth, licking off the butter from her fingers absently.

He has a moment of inspiration… and at that precise moment, almost as if she had telepathic powers (which is really the only kind of power she's missing in her arsenal, Peter thinks) she tells him without even looking up from her snack.

"You're toast if you tell her anything from our cases."

"I wasn't …" Peter begins to protest futilely and then smiles to himself.

The woman simply knew him too well…

"Daddy…" Etta tugs at his shirt, looking impatient now.

"Oh right, okay I've got one. It's the strangest story I am ever going to tell you, but it really happened and you're going to have to trust me okay, no matter how weird it gets." He tells her seriously.

"Okay." Etta smiles, snuggling further up against him, her face rapt with attention as Peter begins…

"Once upon a time, in a land far away from here, there lived a very special young woman called Olivia."

Olivia looks up at him at the mention of her name… as does Etta.

"That's mommy's name." His daughter says.

"It is...isn't it?" He tells her. "Told you it was a strange story."

"Peter, what are you going to tell her?" Olivia asks in a wary voice.

"Sweetheart, you're just going to have listen along if you want to know." He tells her grinning. "So anyway where was I? Right there was this special young woman, and her name was Olivia, just like mommy."

"Was she a princess?" Etta asks him and Olivia can't help but shake her head at the innocent question and she really hopes Peter doesn't cast her as one, given he knows exactly how drastically unlike a fairytale her life has been.

"Oh no… far from it. She wasn't some sappy princess. She was a warrior." He tells her, his voice becoming animated as he tried to paint a picture for his daughter with his words. "A fierce and strong warrior who protected her land and people from all the dangers of the world. She was very brave and she would fight the most terrifying monsters and beasts every day. She had all these powers and special gifts that she didn't even know about.

Olivia had a friend, a warrior just like her, whom she cared about a lot. And one day while they were battling a particularly nasty monster, he got really badly hurt, by a dark form of magic that nobody knew anything about. It was a spell that put him to sleep and nothing in all the land could seem to wake him up."

"And then what happened?" Etta asks, her eyes shining with excitement and Olivia looks at him with some excitement too, unable to pull away from the force of his narrative.

"Well Olivia searched long and hard throughout the kingdom for a cure for the spell. She went to everyone she could think of, asking if they knew how to break the curse. And then one day finally she met a stranger in the woods who told her about a sorcerer who had been locked away in a tower on an island in the middle of the sea for seventeen years. He was a very powerful and learned man who knew all kinds of strange spells and curses, magic that nobody in the kingdom could even dream of conjuring."

"Like Merlin?" Etta asks him, remembering the book he had once read to her about King Arthur and Camelot.

"Exactly like Merlin." Peter nods in agreement. "Except this sorcerer was stranger and slightly crazy. But he could help her; the stranger told Olivia, if only she could find the key to his tower and unlock him out of his prison."

"Why was he locked up daddy? Was he a bad person?" Etta asks him and Peter's eyes waver for a just a second, a sadness overcoming him momentarily.

"No he wasn't a bad person sweetheart. He just lost control of his magic and became too powerful and strong and made some mistakes, and so he had to be punished. But he had a really good heart and he never meant any harm." He brings his hand to stroke her cheek gently, feeling the baby like softness of her skin.

Even as Peter had reconciled himself to his father's actions those many years ago and managed to forgive him, he had never really been able to comprehend how anybody could have acted so recklessly in the interest of one child.

But now…when he looks at his daughter, he knows that there is really no limit to the lengths he would go to for her sake.

Especially now, when the intelligence reports that they receive almost on a daily basis are about nothing but observer sightings. It's beginning to worry him more than he allows it to, like the trepidation that one experiences in the calm before the storm.

"Peter…" Olivia breaks through the reverie of his thoughts in a knowing voice. She gives him a gentle smile, as if she knows somehow the private demons that have entered his head at that moment. "Etta's waiting for you to go on."

He shakes off his worries for a second, determined to enjoy any shred of normalcy he can get before things start to get bad, as he knows in his gut they are about to. He looks at his daughter, who's almost shaking a little with anticipation and continues.

"Right so where we…. aahh we're getting to the most exciting part. So Olivia needed a special key to unlock the sorcerer out of his prison. But the problem was that this key was in the possession of a young man, a handsome traveler who roamed the world far and wide, to distant lands and kingdoms, never staying in one place for too long. He had these invisible set of wings, so he could just fly away anywhere he felt like. Now he was a very peculiar man, this traveler. He had many talents and he spoke many languages and he even knew magic, just like the sorcerer. But he never used his talents for good, always for himself. He was very selfish like that."

"What was his name?" Etta asks him.

"He didn't really have a name." Peter smiles at her. "But you can call him whatever you like."

"I know…. we can call him Dumbo. You know because he can fly." she says brightly and Olivia spurts an impressive jet of water from her mouth as she puts down her glass coughing, unable to stop her laughter.

Peter shoots her a look and then looks at his daughter, looking rather less than enthused about her choice of name. "Sure, why not?' he rolls his eyes. "Olivia and Dumbo… what could be better?"

"Hey sweetie, can I name the traveler, please?" Olivia asks feeling more than a need to write him into this narrative. "Because I was thinking it would be nice if we called him Peter, you know like your daddy."

"But daddy's not selfish like the traveler at all." Etta tells her pointedly as if she had caused her a personal insult by trying to sully her father's good name, and its Olivia's turn to roll her eyes at her daughter's hero worship of her husband.

"Well the thing is this traveler wasn't quite as selfish as he thought he was. He just did a really good job of pretending that way. But he was very kind underneath that. The truth was, he was really just lost, he didn't know what he wanted, didn't know where he belonged." Olivia tells her, meeting Peter's eyes. "So do you think we can name him Peter?"

"Hmm…okay." Etta nods seemingly having made peace with that. "So then what happened?"

"Then… Olivia went searching for this traveler with the key; she had to travel all the way to the other side of the world to a desert to find him, where he was trying to make some money by tricking people with his magic. Now the thing you have to know about this key is that not only did Peter have it but he was the only person who could use it to unlock the sorcerer from his tower. But he didn't want to do that at all, because as a child the sorcerer's actions had caused him a lot of harm and he wasn't ready to forgive him for that. And even as Olivia tried to get him to help her, he still wouldn't listen to her. So being the determined warrior that she was, she bound Peter's invisible wings and promised to set him free, once he unlocked the sorcerer for her and helped her break the spell on her friend. The traveler had no choice but to follow her back to her kingdom."

"She could do that to him?" Etta asks obviously a little in awe.

"Oh she could pretty much do anything she set her heart to. She was a very strong woman and the traveler was no match for her at all. " He tells her. " Once they went back to the kingdom, they rescued the sorcerer from his tower and took him back to the dungeon where he used to practice his sorcery. It was a strange and mad place where all kinds of magic happened. And the three of them worked together to find a way to break the spell.

The sorcerer sent Olivia on a dangerous quest to retrieve a very special memory that could help them unlock the curse. He told her she'd have to swim to the bottom of a black lake of memories to bring the memory back with her. This lake was very deep and dark and full of dangerous and unknown creatures that could pull her down with their tentacles and trap her in a land of dreams and nightmares forever. No one who had ever gone into that lake had come back alive to tell the tale yet." He tells her in foreboding voice.

"No…" Etta exclaims, looking scared now and Olivia gives him a warning look. "Peter…"

"But don't worry because Olivia was not just anybody else." Peter tells her in reassuring voice, using his hand to smoothen the crease on her brow. "She wasn't even scared for a moment. Peter was scared though, he tried to warn her, told her about all the dangerous things that he had heard about the lake, the horrible things that could happen to her. But she didn't listen to him."

"Why wouldn't she? He was only trying to help her." Etta says obviously not impressed.

"I know right?" Peter nods his head in agreement, throwing a sideways grin at his wife, who was giving him a murderous glare just then. "The thing about this young lady was that she was very stubborn and she would never listen to anybody. No matter how much they were only trying to help her. But she knew that going on this quest was the only way she could save her friend, so even though it was dangerous, Olivia plunged fearlessly into the dark waters of the lake after drinking a special magic potion that the sorcerer had conjured for her. She swam and swam against the currents, overcoming every obstacle that came her way until she reached the very bottom of the lake and found the memory she had been looking for. Olivia brought it back with her for the sorcerer who along with Peter's help used it create a special magical potion that finally broke the spell on her friend and woke him up from his sleep."

"So they saved him then didn't they daddy?" Etta asks nodding in approval.

"They did sweetheart. But unfortunately there were just too many dangers in the kingdom, and he died a few days later in another battle." Peter says somberly unable to lie to his daughter. He steals a look at Olivia through the corner of his eye, lost in an ancient pain and knows what she must be remembering. The subject of John was one that they never spoke about, because he knew how much self- doubt it had caused her and frankly, he'd never felt like he had a right to impinge on that aspect of her life. It was too private even for him to be part of.

"That's sad daddy…" Etta tells him, the blue in her eyes dulling a bit. He knows that some of it is what she's absorbing from the change in her mother's emotional state.

"I know, but that's the thing that you have to know about true stories. That sad things happen in them all the time." He gives her a small smile hoping to make her feel better.

"But did he have to die?" Etta asks him, clearly still not okay with the turn in events.

"I don't know if he had to, but he did and we can't change that part. If he hadn't died, well then….. this would have been a completely different story." Peter says weaving his hand through her blond locks, shaking his head at the thought of how different it would have been.

For one it would have likely been John and not him on the couch beside Olivia. And Etta would have never come to be…. or she would have except she would have been only half the person that she was and half of someone else altogether.

And he… he would have gone all through his life like a nomad with no roots to claim whatsoever.

He moves his hand around the couch to take Olivia's hand and gives it a squeeze, feeling the inexplicable need to feel her presence, to be tethered to her in the moment the thought occurs.

She looks at him and smiles knowingly, squeezing his hand back.

"So there's no happy ending then?" Etta asks him.

"Oh I never said that. Just because sad things happen doesn't mean there are no happy endings." He tells her, "And the story's not over yet."

"It's not?' It's Olivia who asks him this time and it's his turn to smile at her reassuringly.

"Uh aah" he shakes his head at her and then turns towards his daughter "You see although she couldn't save her friend and that made her very sad, Olivia knew that if she tried, she could still save others from the dangers of this land, from the strange beasts and monsters and wicked men and women who did cruel and unspeakable things. So she became braver than ever before and with the help of Peter and the sorcerer, she protected and defended innocent people for the rest of her life, becoming the strongest warrior in the entire kingdom and the three of went on to do great and impossible things together."

He allows for a moment of silence before asking Etta, "Now that's a good ending right?

"Yes it's a super –duper ending." She nods emphatically "But it's a not really a happy ending daddy. There's no…. and they lived happily ever after." Etta points out to him logically, not disappointed but clearly expecting something more.

"I think we let her watch too many Disney movies." He shakes his head at Olivia who simply smiles at him and then turns to their daughter, bringing her hand to gently caresses her cheek.

"Well how about I tell you about the happily ever after part of the story huh?" she asks her.

"You know this story too?" Etta asks her.

"Of course I do." Olivia shrugs, thinking to herself of the irony in that question. "You see even though Olivia had promised to set Peter's wings free, he didn't fly away. He stayed with her by her side to fight battles, to protect her while she tried to protect others, to make her happy when she felt sad, to do good in the world, to be her friend and as time passed she fell in love with him because of all the things he did for her. But mostly she just loved him because he didn't fly away." Olivia says to Etta as she moves closer to allow herself to be wrapped in the embrace of Peter's arm.

"And though he still got lost at times, she always found him and brought him back…." She meets Peter's eyes wanting to let him know just how much she means it.

"… and the two of them of lived happily ever after."


	13. Chapter 13

"Mmm, these have got to be the most delicious strawberries in all the universes, even the ones we haven't crossed over to. I swear Peter, they're so good. " Olivia says exhaling with utter contentment, her eyes closed, as she bites into yet another chunk of fruit with so much pleasure that he can't help chuckling.

"I wouldn't know considering you won't even let me try one, but they must be quite something for you to be sighing and moaning like that. I mean even I can't get you to make sounds like that." he says bringing his hand forward to wipe off some of the red juice that's dribbling down her lip onto her chin.

She cocks an eyebrow at him shaking her head at him, "Well maybe you ought to consider working on that..." and her attention's already back to her bowl.

"Whatever, I am just happy to see you eating again," he tells her, genuinely relieved that her appetite had resurfaced after the harrowing morning sickness that she'd been having for the past few weeks.

"I can't seem to stop," she shakes her head, "it's like I am eating all the time and when I am not, all I can do is think about eating, could you get me some more strawberries by the way, they're in the fridge… " she says licking her fingers and noticing that her bowl is empty.

"Sure," Peter walks up to the refrigerator to pull out a box from the dozen or so that Olivia had picked up the last time at the supermarket, since her obsession with the fruit had started. He quickly washes them for her and sets it on the table and can't help smile at the way she promptly empties the whole box into her bowl, as if afraid somehow that he was going to ask her to share.

"Easy there honey, nobody's stealing your precious fruit away from you," he tells her as he pours himself a second cup of coffee, once again coming to join her at the table.

"What can I say? She loves the strawberries," Olivia says, bringing her hand to her middle, where a small but prominent bump has begun to appear in the last few days, in the unconscious, absent way that has become second nature to her that he finds all too endearing.

"_She _doesn't really taste what you eat. I hope you know that…you did take a biology lesson sometime in your life I presume? " he points out as he takes a sip of his coffee, unable to restrain himself from teasing her.

"Yeah… I took several actually. One even in college, though you wouldn't know what that's like given you've never attended college." she scowls at him and Peter can't resist.

"No, but I taught a lot of college kids and I know some of the insanely stupid things they'll believe about how reproduction works. It's not your fault; you're a victim of misinformation and faulty education systems." he says in a mock condescending voice.

"You know how we talked about that fine line that exists between me thinking you're funny and me thinking you're a conceited jerk who likes to assume he knows better than anybody?"

"Yeah?"

"You're sort of tip toing on that line right about now and if I were you I'd rethink uttering any of the several clever comebacks that I know are just dancing on the tip of your tongue."

"Oh but I was just getting started..." he grins good naturedly before putting up his hands in mock defeat and she's smiling to herself, both her hands on her belly now as if in vague contemplation.

"I know it shouldn't be possible, but I know that she likes the taste of strawberries. Just like I know she likes the warmth of the sun and the scent of vanilla. I can't explain it to you, but I feel her respond to objects, sights, sounds, and sensations. It was so faint in the beginning that I thought I was imagining it, but it's been getting a lot stronger."

"Are you serious?" Peter asks, his hand coming to join hers, feeling a strange sense of awe at the possibility of something like that.

"Yeah, especially when you're around," she takes in the wonderstruck look in his eyes, as he's looking at her middle and smiles at him, " I first thought it was just me but I think she likes you almost as much as strawberries."

"Almost as much as strawberries huh?" Peter asks raising his eyebrow, "I gave her life and I am on the same level as fruit on her list of preferences? That's just great." He almost looks offended and Olivia doesn't have the heart to tease him.

"Well maybe a tad more," she tells him intertwining his fingers with hers and moving it in a gentle motion over her bump that she knows the baby finds soothing, "Actually lots more, when you put your hands on my stomach, it's like… it's like she comes alive with joy. I feel this giant tide of happiness wash over me. It's amazing Peter." she tells him.

And the grin on his face is stretched to capacity as he takes in her words, "You're amazing Liv," he comes closer to kiss her forehead, "The things you can do… nothing's really impossible with you is it?"

"I don't know if I can take all the credit, I think some of this is her," she tells him, "it's like she's becoming an actual person inside there and she wants me to be aware of that. Do you think we should be worried about this? I mean it is a little strange right?"

"No honey, it's a lot strange actually," he tells her still somewhat in awe of something like this, "But for once, it's the good kind of strange."

"Yeah, I think I like this kind of strange, a lot," She tells him, her eyes shining with an amplified happiness.

He decides it's time he spoke to her about Henry.

* * *

One of the unspoken rules of their relationship has been to maintain a mutually respected silence about her time over there… over what happened between him and the other Olivia. It was a chasm that they preferred to keep locked and given that in this timeline, the other Olivia hadn't actually been with him because he hadn't existed made it that much easier to block out that chapter of their lives, almost dismiss it because it never happened.

But the knowledge of Henry has been gnawing at him for too long and he feels like he can't keep it from her any longer without feeling like he's deceiving her.

Because every time they share a moment like today, or Olivia's musing aloud to him about the possibility of some physical feature she's hoping their baby will have, his mind can't help but drift to the flashes he had glimpsed in the Observer's mind of the son he never knew about, the son who now doesn't exist.

He's tried in vain to bring the subject up in the past few weeks, trying ever so much to find the courage in the rare emotionally neutral moments when Olivia is not racked with worry for the baby or literally levitating with happiness about her, but he always shies away from doing it.

Part of him doesn't want to hurt her given all that she's been through.

And then there's the part of him that is scared to death that this information could irrevocably distance them one another, terrified that this could be the wedge that drives them apart, creating a break that they can't hope to bridge again.

Because everybody… even Olivia has their breaking point.

So that night, as they lie on the couch watching one of their cheesy horror films, as she's comfortably curled up against his chest, he steels himself, bracing for the second most difficult conversation he has ever had to have with her, and it's following such a sickeningly familiar route that his heart lurches knowingly.

"Olivia, there's something I have to talk to you about; it's about her, the other Olivia."

"What about her?" she asks nonchalantly, her eyes still on the screen where some clichéd macabre scene involving human carnage is playing out. She's obviously thinking about her alternate from this timeline, the woman who had no association with him whatsoever and it tells him just how much of a can of worms he's about to open by forcing her to remember something which only exists now as a memory.

"Not this one, the one from the other timeline." Peter doesn't miss the way her back, noticeably tenses against him when he says that.

"Peter whatever it is, I'd rather not talk about it." She's shaking her head.

"I know and I would never bring this up if it wasn't something I felt you needed to know, you deserved to know, so please… just listen alright. You don't have to say anything if you don't feel like it and I promise I'll never bring it up again unless you want to." He tells her and he can see the reluctance writ large on her face though she nods imperceptibly, and it's enough for him to take as a sign to go ahead.

"You know that we slept together... and I never knew any of this but the Observer showed me when I was in his consciousness…" he pauses, uncertain as to how he could bring himself to say the words, "There was a child Liv."

She inhales sharply and looks at him, shell-shocked.

"A child?" she repeats weakly.

"A son… my son." he presses on.

"Your son…" she whispers, and then her gaze meets his, "You have a son…with her?"

He shakes his head sadly, "Had… he doesn't… he doesn't exist Liv, he was written out of the timeline along with me."

"Oh God!" she moves away from him bringing one hand up to her lips in horror as the words sink in, as she clutches her swollen stomach with the other, almost afraid, "Oh God…" she exclaims again, her eyes close to tears.

"Liv… I am sorry, I didn't…"

"Don't," she shakes her head furiously, she's standing up, inching away from her, her hands waving him away. "Please… not now."

She disappears into the bedroom as fast as her feet will take her.

Peter doesn't follow her.

* * *

Olivia stands in the shower for so long, she loses track of time, letting the warm water run over her body, her hands constantly drifting to her womb, as if she needs to keep reassuring herself that her daughter was still inside her, hadn't been taken away from her like Peter's son.

_Son… _she thinks numbly. He had a son… with _her._

And in the moment she's transported back to that day in the hospital, when's he's sitting opposite her and breaking her heart with every word.

_When you asked me to come back to this world with you... you said..._

_...that you belonged with me._

_And so I came back for you... for us. And we started seeing each other. And I explained away the differences because our relationship was different. I thought she was you, Olivia._

_I thought she was you…._

She remembers breaking down in her apartment, clutching his MIT shirt, trying to make the images of the two of them together go away from her mind.

_She wasn't me. How could you not see that? Now she's everywhere. She's in my house, my job, my bed, and I don't want to wear my clothes anymore, and I don't want to live in my apartment, and I don't want to be with you. She's taken everything. _

And now she's taken this too, Olivia thinks weakly, slumping to the tub her head leaning against the tiles as the water cascades over her body, the shower still on, as she brings her knees together, hugging her stomach, the tears coming slowly and she cries silently.

She's read the other Olivia's file, knows that she had cared for him, had developed actual feelings for him, and maybe even fallen in love with him.

She must have been happy… happy to have been carrying _his _child, experienced all the same wonderful feelings, held her baby in her arms and seen traces of Peter in him.

Must have loved that child more than life itself.

All that Olivia would have and do … except that _she's_ had it and done it first.

This baby had been the only aspect of her relationship with Peter that had been untainted by the difficulties of their past, a joy that was hers and his alone, a first they could experience together.

Not anymore…

And she doesn't know who she can even be mad at for that. The woman who had stolen Peter from her didn't exist, the son they had together _(his firstborn and not with her she can't help thinking)_, didn't exist either.

Then how does the pain of it still exist, she wonders…

"Olivia… it's me Peter…" his voice breaks through the reverie of her thoughts as she hears a knock on the bathroom door, "I know you don't want to talk to me right now. But you've been in there for over an hour and a half and I am a little worried. Could you just let me know you're okay?"

_Of course I am not okay… nothing about this situation is close to okay _

"I am fine… I'll be out in a minute." she says tonelessly, gripping the edges of the tub as she stands up, grabbing a towel off the hanger to dry herself rapidly, her head feels woozy from the hot shower and she blinks rapidly to clear the fog, trying to reclaim focus.

She wraps a robe around herself and makes her way out of the bathroom, her eyes downcast, so that she doesn't have to see Peter. He's sitting on the bed, his face a little bit relieved to see her, before it deflates again.

She doesn't say anything, making her way to the dresser as she sits down on the stool, picks up a comb and starts running it through her damp hair, pulling a little more harshly than needed. She knows he's watching her through the mirror.

"What?" She finally asks, unable to take it after a few minutes.

"Nothing…"

"Then why are you staring at me?"

"I just want to make sure you're fine."

"Do I not look fine to you?" She turns around to face him, her face expressionless.

"You know I never meant for any of this to happen. I never meant to hurt you," he begins….

"I think we both know what you meant for to happen is about as relevant to this conversation as a doorknob," she cuts him off, feeling her exhaustion with this situation seep to her core, "I am fairly sure you didn't _mean_ to get two versions of the same woman pregnant without really trying to. Though deep down I am sure it must make you feel rather proud of your virility for being able to beat odds like that despite birth control, assuming of course that you used any with her. I mean she was so much more free-willing than me …"

She doesn't miss the way he winces at that statement and she berates herself in that instant…

"We always used protection… I thought she was you. I would have never put you at risk. You know me better than that." He says. "This didn't happen because I was reckless Olivia, I swear I wasn't ..."

"And yet here we are..." she says, throwing her hand up in the air, "Why is it that it's nobody's fault and I am still the one who gets hurt? We get hurt? How is that fair? " She asks him softly, almost bewildered at this series of events, "This baby was the one thing, the only thing that I had with you that was pure and untouched by any of the misery that we've been put through in the last couple of years and now I don't even have that." she says.

"Liv… that's not true." Peter's telling her, his voice agitated at whatever she's suggesting "You know this doesn't change anything with the baby. It won't change how we feel about…how I feel about her…"

"Because every time I'll look at her, I'll be forced to think about the fact that you had a son who doesn't exist anymore." She's not listening to him anymore, "And that maybe she's here only because he isn't. Do you know how that makes me feel Peter?" she asks him.

He looks at her, his eyes a reflection of her own conflicted feelings and he doesn't say anything and he simply gets up and picks up a pillow from his side of the bed.

"Where are you going?" She asks him.

"I just, maybe I should sleep on the couch tonight." He says.

"And what purpose would that serve?" She asks tiredly.

"You don't seem to want to be near me right now and we're not going to resolve this right now, so the least I can do is give you some space to yourself." He says and then looks at her with an odd mixture of worry and apology. "You need to get some rest Liv. This stress can't be good for you… for the baby. I'll still be here tomorrow if you wanna scream at me or hurl things at me or decide you're done with me alright?"

The last part of the sentence is obviously meant to be a joke, but she doesn't miss the actual fear in his eyes.

Despite the suggestion of rest being laughable, Olivia does fall asleep that night…. the moment her heads hits the pillow, her body too worn out to handle anymore thinking.

She has the most beautiful dream that night.

* * *

_She's walking in water like substance, except there's no solid ground beneath her feet, it's lighter and clearer and she can breathe in it easily enough. There's a light somewhere that's illuminating a path for her, and she follows it without a question, feeling a strange calmness wash over her as she nears the light, comes closer to it, the beams bathing her in white brightness so much so that the outlines of her figure are blurred, making her feel almost like she's part of it. _

_And then Olivia sees her and it takes her breath away… in the centre of that candescence, as if she was being held up by that light, an infant so perfect with alabaster skin and the tiniest pink toes and fingers and wisps of golden hair and the most startling blue eyes, like the way the surface of the ocean shimmered on a warm summer day, so familiar and yet so new looking back at her…_

_ Olivia moves closer to the light, to hold her…_

_She feels weightless in her arms and so small and yet so real, and Olivia runs a hand through her cheek, bringing her close to her face so she can see her up close, gasping at the softness of her skin._

_"You're beautiful..." she whispers to the baby, nuzzling her nose, "you're so beautiful," _

_ And the baby's now smiling at Olivia, the curve of her minuscule lips so strikingly like Peter's, as she raises her arm that collides with Olivia's face and she can't help but laugh. _

_"I love you," she tells her, "I love you so much." _

_"I'll come back to you, I promise." She's telling the baby after an eternity seems to have passed, as she gently places her back in the solidness of the light, and the infant is now grabbing her finger tightly. _

_"We'll be together soon. For now, you need to stay here okay..." she tells her, pressing a gentle kiss to the little fingers that are trying hard to grasp at her hand._

_And the light's pulling away from her now, moving farther and farther away_

* * *

She awakens with a gasp, her mind still enveloped in a wave of serenity, as the remnants of her dream ripple through her body, flooding her with an exceptional physical and mental calmness.

The first rays of the early morning sun are streaming down on her from the windows and she brings her hand to her stomach… a wide smile on her face.

"You did this for me didn't you?" she asks closing her eyes, still savoring the dream, "Thank you…" she whispers... "Thank you baby."

She makes her way to the living room, to find Peter sprawled out on the couch, asleep. And she can't help but be reassured by the sight of him. Gently, she pushed his legs away, making some room for herself.

"Peter…" she shakes him gently, feeling bad for cutting short his sleep. But she feels she needs to say too much to him and it can't wait at all.

"Olivia… what?" He opens his eyes, squinting as he tries to focus. "What's wrong sweetheart?" He asks her in a scratchy voice.

"Nothing's wrong. Everything's perfect actually." She says, unable to keep herself from smiling. "Peter I saw her... I saw her and she was so beautiful…"

"Whom did you see?" Peter asks rubbing his eyes as he sits up.

"The baby…. I saw her in my dream Peter." She says excitedly.

He gives her a sleepy smile, bringing one hand to rest on her cheek. "You had a dream that you saw the baby."

"No…. I saw her… in the dream. It was like a vision and it came from her Peter. I know it. She showed it to me." She sees the way Peter's eyes widen at her words and he gives her a soft smile.

"You saw her." He echoes her words, his voice almost wonderstruck. And then as if he was reminded of something, of the events of last night, his hand drops away from her cheek.

"She has your eyes you know." She says and he looks up at her with an emotion that can only be described as elation, even as it is muted.

"And she reminded me of what really matters at the end of the day." She tells him, reaching out to take his hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze as she rests her head against his shoulder. "That's two things the both of you have in common."

"Liv I…."

"I am sorry you never got to know him… your son." She says before he starts apologizing like she knows he will.

The statement is a simple one, but it's enough for him to understand that she's not angry with him. That she understood his need to have told her.

That they would manage to get past this.

" Maybe it's a good thing I never got to know him after all… it would have hurt so much more for knowing him…" He says sadly and then turns to her.

"His name was Henry you know…"

"Henry..." She repeats… remembering the cab driver on the other side who had helped her when she had tried to escape.

_What about you? You got someone?_

_Sort of_

_That's an odd name... "sort of."_

_His name is Peter. He's sort of the reason I'm here_

" Henry's a nice name." She smiles at him, feeling something like approval coming from her daughter.

"I think she likes it."


	14. Chapter 14

One day, Peter gets shot…

Olivia is not with him when it happens. Seven months pregnant and having been absolutely forbidden to be in the field by Broyles (she thinks Peter had something to do with the unwavering certainty with which he tells her that in his office two months ago) she's at her office in the FBI building, pouring over a case file, chewing on her pen absently, when she feels a particularly sharp kick from the baby.

She grimaces in pain and breathes in deeply for a second to let it pass. But before she can turn her attention to her file, she feels her kicking again almost frantically.

_Easy there baby._ She thinks to herself, bringing a hand to her stomach_. I am not a bouncy house._ She begins rubbing her belly in circular motions trying to get the incessant kicking to stop when she feels a distinct wave of unmitigated distress wash over her.

"What's wrong baby?" She says aloud now, hyper ware of the surges of dread and anxiety coming from her daughter. Before she can ponder the change in her emotional state, Broyles is walking up to her desk, an indescribable look on his face.

"What's wrong?" she repeats her earlier question at him, not knowing why she was suddenly feeling trepidation of her own.

"Dunham there was an incident … Peter's been shot."

"Oh God?" She brings her hand to her mouth, trying to process the words suddenly understanding everything. "Is he…."

"He's been rushed to the hospital…" He tells her immediately. "But we don't know much else..." His voice trails off.

"Oh God…" She almost keels over in her seat, overwhelmed by a fear that's not only hers but also her child's. It's sharper and rawer than anything she's ever experienced and the intensity of it almost swallows her up whole.

"Olivia… are you alright?" She hears Broyles take her first name and it takes all of her willpower to not collapse right there.

Somehow she manages not to succumb to the tears pricking at her eyelids or the anguish that's coursing through her in ripples and looks up to face him, mustering an almost imperceptible nod.

"I have to go and see him. Now." She says shakily, standing up, clutching the desk for support like her life depended on it.

"I'll have someone drive you."

* * *

By the time she reaches the hospital, Olivia is so enveloped by the baby's distress that she can barely recognize her own anxiety anymore. She tries and fails miserably to calm her down, to get the agitated movements inside her womb to stop.

It's going to be okay… she thinks repeatedly. She did not lose Peter to alternate universes and timelines and find him again only to have him die by something as ridiculously ordinary as a lead bullet.

The idea of it is simply preposterous.

It's going to be okay… it has to be.

Walter and Astrid are already there when she gets there and the look on both their faces when they see her is enough to tell her that something is very wrong and her earlier optimism almost evaporates on the spot.

"How is Peter? Did the doctors say anything? He's fine right?" She asks desperately looking at them.

"Olivia you should sit down first my dear…" Walter's telling her, but she doesn't want to hear any of that.

"Walter please... not now." She cuts him off. "Astrid, what happened? Please I have to know." She looks at the younger woman hoping for the honesty that she's sure she'll get from her.

"Peter was shot in the chest and he lost a lot of blood even before we brought him here. He's in surgery right now and we don't know anything else yet." Astrid tells her. "But it's going to be fine okay." She tells her, grabbing her hand. "Peter's strong and he'll make it. You know that Olivia."

In that moment she feels like her legs have turned to jelly and she almost stumbles a little, as she takes in the information and Astrid holds onto her hand looking worried.

"I know Peter's going to be fine…" she tells Astrid resolutely, before she sinks into the closest chair she can find.

"He has to be."

* * *

They wait for over two hours before the doctor emerges from the surgery. Olivia honestly doesn't know how long it takes because she simply checks out while she waits… from everything and everyone around her, including her baby's emotional imbalances which she realizes she has no control over anyway.

It isn't till she registers that the doctor is actually saying something to her specifically that she manages to come back to reality.

" are you listening to me?" The doctor asks kindly.

"Yeah…" She manages to say weakly.

"We managed to get the bullet out but there's been too much blood loss and internal damage and Peter's vitals are nowhere close to strong. We can't say anything for sure until he wakes up." He pauses and then says a little more somberly "I am really sorry to have to tell you this but we don't even know if he's going to wake up."

"No…. I expect you wouldn't know something like that." She mumbles not even looking at him or really at anybody as the words register in her head.

She thinks she sees tears on Walter's face but she's not sure and she doesn't care.

"I have to see him." She says her voice strained.

"Well if you'd like to of course. But in your present condition I'd really advice you against it. It's going to needlessly upset you." He says cautiously and Olivia almost has the absurd urge to laugh.

"You're telling me there's a good chance Peter's going to die and you're worried about me being upset? I think it's rather unavoidable at this point don't you think?" She says evenly and all the doctor can really do is nod at her.

"Come with me."

* * *

It's the horrible stillness of his body that almost breaks her when she sees him lying on the hospital bed...unconscious, the only faint sign of life being the almost indiscernible rise and fall of his chest.

He is a restless being, and that always manifests itself in activity of some kind, and to see him so lifeless is more than unsettling. Shaking aside the sick feeling that's filling her up with every second, Olivia moves closer to see him properly, to catalogue the numerous injuries on his body, to take in the bandages that were visible under his hospital gown.

"Peter…" she whispers, as she tentatively brings one hand to ghost over his limp palm. She intertwines his fingers in hers, her heart sinking at the way they simply hang loosely in her hold, instead of tightening their grasp around hers as they normally would. She brings his hand to her lips, pressing kisses to each of his fingers, trying to desperately remedy the slackness of his limbs.

She remembers the way his fingers move when he plays the piano, on the baby grand that she surprised him with for his birthday five months ago. He'd been beyond touched and equally concerned by the extravagance of her present.

* * *

_"Liv, this is too much… you really shouldn't have. We have a baby on the way or did you just forget that part?" He had asked even as he was running his hands through the surface of the shiny keys with longing. _

_"I didn't. It's part of the reason why I bought it. You can teach her to play when she's old enough. " She had put her hands on his shoulders from behind him watching as he tested out a couple of keys._

_"You're assuming she'll have any musical inclinations. What if she wants to quit after six months like you?" He had teased her. _

_"Somehow I have a strong feeling that she'll take after her father and grandfather and inherit the Bishop propensity for music. Plus you know it's not a completely selfless gift… This way I can get you to play for me whenever I want." She had said putting her arms around him as she sat beside him. _

_"It'll be having my own living room musician."_

_"So baby gets lessons, you get in-house private concerts and I get what exactly?" He had asked giving her a sardonic grin._

_"Well the singular pleasure of owning and playing a beautiful instrument…along with the knowledge that watching you play the piano is possibly the biggest turn on for me." She had said in a playful voice as she placed a lingering kiss on his stubble and watched his face light up with a dangerous smile. "But if that's not enough than maybe you're right about it being too much. I should send it back."_

_"I think the benefits outweigh the costs in this situation so we should definitely keep it." He had said shaking his head. "It'd be a good investment, for the baby … you know." He had said pointedly. _

_"Right…. for the baby." She had given him a knowing smile, resting her head on his shoulder. _

_"So Dunham, Any requests?" He had asked her "Let me guess… Bach?" _

_"I was thinking something less stuffy like Jazz?" _

_"Really… never figured you for a Jazz person." _

_"Well I am not. But I met this guy once who told me that I needed some of it in my life."_

_"Sounds like a wise man. You end up taking his advice then?"_

_"Maybe I did after all."_

* * *

She closes her eyes as she relives that day. He had played for her almost every night since that day…Jazz and Beethoven and Mozart and of course lots of Bach, extolling the positive effects music would have on their unborn child, something which apparently the baby agreed on given the exultant vibes she got from her daughter every time her father exhibited his remarkable talents on the piano.

"Peter please…" she says brokenly, holding his palm against her cheek, not sure what exactly she needs from him…

But she simply needs….

She stares at him for a long time , willing all her strength into getting him to open his eyes and look at her, maybe give her one of his signature grins and make some stupid, inappropriate joke that would invariably get her to smile.

But he just lies there and Olivia can't take it anymore.

She drops his hand abruptly and walks out of the room, her feet not stopping till she's out of the hospital entrance. She realizes that somewhere in the past couple of hours the baby has stopped her kicking.

But her fear still remains with Olivia.

* * *

She ends up wandering through the city streets for a long time. Even though it's late in the night and its freezing cold and there's barely anyone outside. Waiting in that hospital is not an option and neither is going back home...to that lonely house that feels so big and empty without Peter and she doesn't want to be around anyone who'll look at her with pitying eyes or offer up useless words of comfort. Her phone keeps ringing and she ignores it. She knows it's probably Astrid trying to reach her or Walter, maybe even Broyles.

There's not a single person she wants to talk to right now except Peter.

But she's not sure she'll even get to hear his voice ever again.

So she simply walks around for over an hour, lost for direction and numb from the cold, barely aware of the snow that's beginning to fall rather heavily or much of anything else that's going on around her.

She remembers the many times when Peter and her would walk around the city streets late in the night after closing a case, when they were so hopped up on the caffeine overload and the excitement of a job well done that sleep would elude them no matter how exhausted they felt. They would stroll aimlessly (though Peter always was remarkably clear on where they were heading) all around Boston till dawn, hands held together, having endless conversations about everything and nothing. Peter would lead her sometimes through little streets and corners of the city, telling her stories behind specific places and buildings or showing her interesting and hidden sights. Eventually they'd grab breakfast at some obscure little joint he would take her to and then finally go home to sleep through most of the day.

He'd made her aware of the city in the night in a way that she never knew it could be explored. And even as she's walking without purpose, she knows she's treading familiar paths that he has taken her through once before.

"The world is a different place in the night, Olivia." He'd told her once on one of their midnight excursions. "Maybe it's not as hopeful and promising at the day, but it has its own possibilities. You see things differently, things that get lost in the light sometimes you know. You just have to learn to look."

She tries to look… for something, anything. A sign of possibility like he'd told her to watch out for. But there's nothing but bleakness that night. Even the scant number of stars she can spot don't shine as brightly at they normally do. Not that they ever were particularly startling given the film of smog that covers the atmosphere, but with Peter they had seemed almost magical.

Olivia only stops walking when she feels a sudden wave of dizziness overcome her and she has to hold onto a lamppost for support till it passes. She realizes then that her entire body is throbbing with a faint ache for over several hours that she hasn't paid any attention to. Her boots are slowly getting wet from the snow and her lips are almost blue from the cold. Some rational part of her mind is reminded at that point that this kind of exertion is not good for her at all, that she has a responsibility towards her child.

She looks around and finds her way into a completely empty diner and takes a seat at one of the tables. The heat indoors is a reminder of how cold she has been and she can't help but shiver as she pulls her coat tighter around herself.

It's not her usual black coat. It's a deep shade of red, a striking color that Peter had insisted on getting for her a month ago at a maternity clothing store they'd gone to, when she had come to the realization that her winter clothing would no longer fit her.

* * *

_"Red? Uh aah. No way. Do you even know me?"_

_"I know how much you like to rock the blacks but you'll look amazing in red. Trust me." He had said as he'd slipped it on for her and she couldn't help laughing, as he'd turned her around to allow herself a look in the full length mirror in the store._

_"Peter I am getting to be the size of a house. I look about as far from amazing as I ever will." She'd said shaking her head. "And I appreciate you trying to make me feel better but lying to me about how good I look is just not necessary."_

_"Well I agree about it not being necessary, because I am not lying." He'd said shrugging as he put his arms around her waist. "You look stunningly sexy. Total femme fatale. I would be more explicit in my adjectives but there are too many children and fetuses walking around in this store. " _

_"You're severely deluded…. or you really must be head over heels in love with me." She had joked, even as she couldn't help admiring the lovely color and the wonderfully soft fabric and Peter's knack for somehow knowing such things. "It is a beautiful coat…. But it's going to make me really stand out. I already feel like the whole world is staring at my stomach all the time. The last thing I need is more attention." _

_"Well of course it'll make you stand out, Liv. That's kind of the point isn't it? You're always trying to blend in, when you were simply born to stand out." He'd pointed out. "You shouldn't fight your true nature so much you know."_

_"Is that fashion advice or life coaching that I am detecting?" She had teased him._

_"A little bit of both." He'd said kissing her temple. "I am making it my life's mission to bring more color to your life, literally and figuratively. We'll start with the coat and then the sky's the limit." _

_"Did you happen to take a look at the price tag? The sky is really the limit. It's ridiculously expensive." She'd pointed out._

_"Well you don't have to worry about the price, because I am going to get this for you." He'd said._

_"That has me even more worried, considering the fact that you make less money than I do." She had said smiling at him. _

_"Well you shouldn't worry. I may not make the big bucks but think I can buy a present for my girlfriend without risking bankruptcy." He'd said shaking his head in laughter at her remark. "And you need to stop being so practical all the time. Life is for taking chances. Expensive chances at that." _

_ "Like I took a chance on you?" _

_"Oh me you can have for free sweetheart." _

* * *

"Can I get you something Miss?" She hears a waitress asking her kindly and she looks up to find an elderly woman in a uniform looking at her, bringing her back to reality.

" Umm..I don't know…." She shakes her head, not really sure what she was doing here anyway.

"You want a drink, maybe something to eat? There's a menu card you can take a look at if you need help deciding." She tells her and waits patiently for a few seconds, hoping that Olivia will pick up said menu card.

"I don't need anything." Olivia manages to say weakly when she realizes that the waitress simply won't go away. She fumbles in her coat pocket to fish out a couple of crumpled dollar bills and sets them on the table, hoping that she'll take the money and just leave her alone.

But she doesn't go and continues to stare at her. "Are you okay dear? You don't look so good." The waitress says, her voice laced with concern, as her gaze drifts downwards to the rather prominent swell of her abdomen.

Olivia simply nods and stares at the greying Formica surface avoiding her gaze, her hands trembling as she clasps them together.

"Look at you… you're shivering." She hears the waitress say despite her reluctance to engage her and Olivia almost wants to scream at her to get lost. "You've been out in the cold too long. I am going to get you something to warm you up okay?" She puts a gentle hand on her shoulder which Olivia flinches away from, and then leaves only to return a few minutes later with a bowl of soup which she sets down in front of her.

"Here you go sweetheart… that should put some color back in your cheeks." She says cheerfully, giving her an expectant look.

When Olivia shows no sign of interest in the food before her, she tells her a little more forcefully. "You should go ahead and dig into that. You look like you haven't eaten all day and you gotta feed your baby something."

"My baby…" Olivia repeats in a small voice, suddenly remembering.

She nods and with shaking hands picks up the spoon and hesitantly dips it into the bowl, swallowing a mouthful of the hot soup.

But it takes too much effort to do even that and she stops, letting the spoon slide into the bowl.

"There you go…. " the waitress says and makes as if to leave, but then for some reason thinks better of it and instead sits down in the seat opposite her. Olivia looks at her unsure as to what she's expecting from her, but the woman doesn't say anything and simply gives her an encouraging look.

So she takes another spoonful and starts eating.

For a few minutes, she simply eats in silence as the other woman looks on.

"Thank you." She finally tells her, shaking her head at having been so utterly careless and going so long without any food, realizing now just how physically exhausted and strained she was. She can almost hear Peter's voice inside her head, being really upset with her for doing something like this.

"No problem honey. My name is Jane by the way. What's yours?" The waitress asks her.

"It's Olivia." She tells her as gulps down another spoonful.

"Well Olivia… it's very nice to meet you." Jane tells her heartened by the sight of her making quick work of the soup. "How far along are you?"

"Seven months."

"Seven months… that's close huh?" She tells her. "I remember when my daughter was expecting last year. When she was at seven months, she wouldn't even leave her bed. Just sit there warm and cozy in her pajamas all day long, eating unreasonable amounts of ice-cream and ordering everyone around her to do her bidding. She was like a sack of potatoes." She laughs, her eyes nostalgic and then looks at her. "You're obviously more of an active kind, I can tell. I was the same way. Couldn't just sit around if my life depended on it."

Olivia doesn't say anything and simply nods, while Jane goes on.

"But as glad as I am that you chose our fine establishment in the middle of this very cold night, you really don't look like you should be out and about in your condition."

"I don't have anywhere else to go." Olivia shrugs, her voice constricting a little.

"I am sure that's not true." Jane gives her a knowing smile, shaking her head sadly. "I've watched too many women in trouble walk in here, with nowhere else to go, just trying to escape the cold for a little while. It always breaks my heart to see them. But you don't really strike me as the kind…For one your clothes are way too nice." She tells her, taking in the sight of the woman who despite looking absolutely distraught seemed evidently well cared for. "That's a really lovely coat you have on by the way. It's a beautiful red... looks great on you." She tells her.

And Olivia can't help smiling at that. "It was a present… from Peter."

"Is he the father?" She asks

Olivia nods wordlessly.

"He must have really good taste to have picked that out for you. My husband, God bless him, I love him to death…. but he has yet to buy me anything that didn't make me look like a misshapen lump in a sack. I just always thought men were simply incapable of knowing things like that." She says. "Obviously you lucked out."

"Yeah I guess I did." Olivia says in a subdued voice.

"How long have you been together?" Jane asks her.

"That's a complicated question." Olivia purses her lips trying to imagine what the woman would say if she told her exactly how complicated it was.

"On again off again huh?"

"I suppose you could say that." Olivia says, shrugging.

"Before we got married, my husband and I were the same way for a long time and then I got pregnant. That changed everything. Children tend to make up our minds for us don't they?" Jane says.

Olivia shakes her head. "I made up my mind about him a very long time ago. Before any of this…" she says her hands pointing towards her middle. "It's just other things that keep getting in the way."

"Well you have him now don't you?" She says.

"As much as I'll ever have him." Olivia says not knowing what else to tell her.

"That's a funny way of putting it…. What's the problem? Is there someone else in his life?" She asks cautiously.

"No… no it's not that. He'd never…. That's not the problem, believe me." Olivia tells her empathetically, realizing that her answers have led Jane to draw the wrong conclusion altogether.

"Then….is it the baby? Is he having doubts about fatherhood... because men sometimes go through that? It's very normal…"

Olivia almost manages to laugh. "Peter's not really one to have doubts about himself. He's exceptionally confident about pretty much everything he does." She looks at Jane who obviously is very confused. "He loves this baby… more than life itself." Olivia assures her. "If anybody is ready to be a father, it's him."

"He seems pretty perfect by all accounts." Jane remarks.

"He is." Olivia says her smile becoming a little wider. "He always knows what I want, what I need. Even when I don't know it myself. Like right now…he'd be so mad at me if he knew that I was on my feet for so long. He'd probably lecture me for an hour while giving me a foot rub at the same time."

"Sounds like he loves you very much." Jane says smiling at the way the young woman's face seemed to light up momentarily.

"Yeah…well he has a funny way of showing it." Olivia says, her expression immediately darkening.

"I am sure whatever it is… you'll work it out." Jane says hoping to comfort her, not quite sure what has changed her mood in a split second.

"Oh we'll work it out trust me…" she says shaking her head, now suddenly feeling really angry with him and not really talking to Jane anymore. " If he's still alive tomorrow morning that is, I swear I'll kill him myself. I mean… where does he get off telling me every second day to be careful and then running off half-cocked to get shot?" She asks incredulously, her hand now shaking as she sets the spoon down violently.

"Oh you poor thing..." Jane gasps, suddenly understanding a little more. But Olivia's not even looking at her anymore.

"How could he do this to me? After everything... If he dies and leaves me…" her voice trails off as a single tear makes its way down her cheek as she brings her hand to her stomach. "I can't do this alone. I just can't." She shakes her head furiously.

"You won't have to. I am sure he'll be fine." The older woman tells her with an odd conviction that only seeks to rile her up.

"You don't know that." Olivia tells her dismissively. "You don't know anything about me or him or us."

"No I guess I don't." Jane tells her unfazed by the creeping hostility in Olivia's tone. "I don't even need to know anything. But you need to have faith that things will work out."

"Faith?" Olivia scoffs at her. "You want me to have faith that things will work themselves out? It's that simple to you isn't it? My child could lose her father tonight… even before she's born she could be orphaned and I should simply have faith that that won't happen."

"You're not the praying kind are you Olivia?" Jane asks her abruptly.

"No…I am not, and I am not about to start now." Olivia shakes her head. "So if you're thinking of offering me any comfort in that vein, I'd rather you didn't please."

"I wasn't going to." Jane tells her. "I just meant to say that there is more than one kind of faith, faith that we place in the people we love. That's the kind of faith that you need to hold onto. Now you do love him don't you….Peter?"

"Of course I do."

"Then be assured, he'll come back to you."

"He always comes back to me." Olivia says aware of the irony in Jane's words. If only she knew… just how many times, he'd found his way back to her "Because I am the one who brings him back. But this time there's nothing I can do… "

"That's where you're wrong. You can have faith in him. That he'll make it." Jane takes her hand and squeezes it gently.

"Now I don't really know you Olivia, but anyone can tell you're a strong woman. So why are you hiding here in an empty diner when you should be with the man that you love, especially considering how much he probably needs you right now."

"I am so scared…" She hates how pathetic she sounds in that moment. "If I lost him…"

"I know… it's scary to think about that. And it's okay to be scared. But you have to also try and be strong, for yourself, for him, for your baby. Your baby's counting on you to be brave through

this. And something tells me being brave comes very naturally to you."

Olivia can't help but laugh at that as she wipes the tears away. "Why are you being so nice to me?" She asks, looking at the woman with curiosity. "You don't even know me."

"I don't think there are any rules against being nice to people we don't know are there?" She smiles at her.

"I guess not." She smiles weakly back at her. Her phone vibrates rather loudly in that moment and Jane gets up from her seat.

"You should get that. Lot of people are probably worried sick about you. Let me know if you need me to call you a cab okay. And take care Olivia."

"Olivia it's me Astrid…" She hears her friend's voice on the line. "Where are you? I've been trying to call you for over an hour. You just disappeared from the hospital and Walter was beside himself with worry, as was I."

" I was just… getting some air." She says vaguely. "I am fine. Sorry for making you worry on top of everything else."

"Don't stress about it. Let me know where you are and I'll come get you."

* * *

Its takes all her willpower to walk through the doors of that hospital a second time. But once she crosses the threshold, Olivia knows this is where she is supposed to be. She feels a sudden burst of strength race through her.

_You have to have faith…_

And she does.

* * *

"I am sorry I made you worry."

His voice is hoarse and so scratchy and barely at an audible decibel but Olivia doesn't really care.

Just the fact that she can hear his voice is enough for now.

"You should be." She tells him, running her hands through his hair, as she takes yet another glance at his blue eyes.

Eyes that she never thought she'd see again.

"I swear Liv. The moment that bullet hit me all I could think about was how mad you were going to be at me if I died. How's that for whipped huh?" He manages a weak smile at her.

"I'd probably have had Walter put me in the tank just so I could enter your consciousness and yell at you till the end of time." She tells him lightly, still unable to keep the tremble out of her voice.

"You can't keep doing this you know." She shakes her head at him, clasping his hand tightly, as a tear manages to break her stubborn resolve not to cry. "You can't keep leaving me and expecting me to bring you back from wherever the hell you disappear to. And frankly I am a little tired…" her voice trails off as words fail her and more tears stream down her face.

"I know…. come here…" he tells her, bringing his hand up to wipe her wet cheeks, as she slowly rests her head on his chest, careful not to hurt him.

They don't speak for a long time after that.

* * *

Olivia secures the beanie over Etta's head, unable to resist dropping a kiss on her nose, as she pushes the door and walks inside.

The diner is a very different place in the day. Bustling and full of people and there's more than one waitress around. Everybody seems particularly busy and she almost thinks she should come back another time, when a friendly, familiar voice speaks up from behind her.

"Well if it isn't the girl in the red coat."

Olivia turns around to find Jane smiling at her warmly.

"Hi there… I was looking for you." She says almost shyly, suddenly feeling very out of sorts.

"Well you found me honey." The older woman says cheerfully. "And you brought a friend I see." She says her eyes drifting to the baby carrier, as she takes in the sight of Etta. "Oh she's beautiful… and those eyes…my God. She's going to be a real heartbreaker."

Olivia is unable to hide a proud smile, as she bounces Etta gently in her arms, who's looking at Jane with some amount of curiosity.

"What's her name?"

"It's Henrietta"

"That's a nice name. Did her father pick that out for her?"

"How did you know that?" Olivia asks surprised.

"Well he does have good taste…. so it figures." Jane says still looking at the baby with genuine happiness.

"How is he doing?" She asks looking at Olivia now.

"He's…more than okay. Completely back to his old self. I don't know if that's necessarily a good thing. " She tells her smiling.

"That's good. See I told you he'll be fine." She points out.

"Yeah… you did... that's why I came here." Olivia says, taking Jane's hand. "You have no idea what you did for me that night. I was so scared and you helped me even though I wasn't really the nicest person to you. Thanks for that." She says hoping her words would convey her gratitude.

"No problem…" Jane smiles at her warmly, squeezing her hand. "I told you just needed to have faith and things would work themselves out."

Olivia nods, holding Etta closer.

"Yes they did."


	15. Chapter 15

"Sweetheart, I wish you were around in my twenties…" Peter says shaking his head at his daughter as he settles her in the pram. "I swear you're a better chick magnet than a sports car."

It's the third time this afternoon that a random woman in the park has come up to him to coo over the baby in his arms and then proceeded to flirt with him, and as much as he loves the surges of fatherly pride he feels every time someone fawns over his daughter, the attention that comes his way as a byproduct of said fawning is something he can really do without.

Etta gives him a wide toothless grin and Peter can't help smiling himself.

"Oh you think you're very cute don't you?" He says nudging her tiny nose with his finger when in the most imperceptible of movements she almost shrugs at him.

"Yeah I guess you are." He says nodding in agreement, as he pulls a cream colored beanie over her head where light wisps of golden hair have begun to appear more prominently. "Well dial it down a notch sweetheart; your mother will kill me if she finds out that you were helping me score women I wasn't even trying to get."

Etta is now giving him a concentrated look as Peter presses on…

"I mean don't get me wrong, I appreciate the assist, but I already landed this totally hot blonde, otherwise known as mom to you, and she's really it for me." He says taking her little hand in his. "But at least now we know that there is something to the whole man with a baby theory after all."

His daughter seems to agree with him, bobbing her head enthusiastically as she smiles at him, her large, blue eyes shining with excitement and Peter's heart melts yet again.

It doesn't matter how many times he's been on the receiving end of her smiles, it never ceases to affect him profoundly.

He's not sure the feeling will ever really go away.

"And to top it all, that smile of yours…." He says wryly as she grips his finger tightly. "I suppose you can't really help being adorable after all. I am telling you, when you grow up and boys start taking notice…. I swear my blood pressure is going to go off the charts."

"Talking to yourself again I see…" He hears a voice behind him. He turns around to see Olivia smiling at him. In her usual pantsuit and tight ponytail, it almost looks like nothing's really changed except for the unmistakable softness in her appearance which wasn't there before.

"Hey, how was first day back at work?" He asks her as she joins him on the park bench.

"Absolutely terrible." She shakes her head. "I was so unfocussed and couldn't concentrate on anything. It's a good thing there was just this mountain of paper work to do and not an actual case because I think I would have mucked everything up." She says her attention not really on him, her gaze already fixed on the infant, who obviously having recognized the sound of her mother's voice is looking at her with barely concealed delight, as she reaches in and picks her up.

"Oh I missed you so much baby." Olivia says nuzzling Etta's crown gently, as she holds her close, her voice full of blatant relief at being reunited with her daughter. "I couldn't stop thinking about you all day, not for one second." She tells her dropping kisses on her nose and cheeks, delighting in the giggles she seemed to elicit from Etta.

"Why it's nice to see you too Liv..." Peter says dryly and Olivia rolls her eyes at him.

"Are you really going to compete for attention with your own daughter?" She asks him, shaking her head as Etta tries to grab her hair from her pony tail.

"Competing would imply I have a chance of winning." He points out. "No…. I've pretty much resigned myself to playing second fiddle ever since this one came along." He huffs exaggeratedly and Olivia can't help but laugh.

"Throwing yourself a pity party Bishop? Not very attractive." She tells him. "And trust me you're going to feel just as miserable as I do when you come back to work fulltime...or playing in Walter's emporium of freaky that you call having a job." She tells him, settling Etta in the nook of her neck, where she likes it best, rocking her gently and generally reveling in the feel of her weight in her arms.

"I've been thinking about not actually." He says casually, not missing the way Olivia's eyebrows go up at that. "Thought I'd try the whole stay at home dad routine and see how I like it. It is pretty nice so far."

"Really… and what am I supposed to do without you?" She asks.

"Well Liv, you will still see me at the end of the day you know. I know I am pretty irresistible, but if you're saying you can't even go a few hours in a day without being with me than we have a problem." He cocks an eyebrow at her, giving her a teasing grin.

"I meant for a partner you idiot." She glares at him.

"You could always Broyles to assign you a new one. Now that he has that insane budget to do whatever the hell he wants." He points out. "Maybe someone who can actually carry a gun."

"So you're basically saying that you want to stop working with me so that you can spend all your time with our daughter and I am the one who made you second fiddle?" She shakes her head at him.

"Well when you put it like that…" He shrugs.

"Did you hear that Etta? Your dad is sticking me with all the work so that he can sit back and relax in a park with you all day." She tells her daughter, who is halfway asleep in her arms at this point as she throws Peter a disapproving look.

"Not just the park, tomorrow I am thinking the two of us would go the zoo, maybe a picnic by the river… I don't know I haven't decided yet." He tells her seemingly lost in thought.

"You're really serious about not wanting to come back to work?" Olivia asks him, a note of dejection in her voice that Peter doesn't miss.

"Why…. would that bother you?" He asks trying to hide a smile at the way she's chewing her lower lip, a sign that she's worried

"No" She shrugs with too much indifference for it to be believable. "I mean if that's what you want…I guess I could get Broyles to assign me a new partner. Fringe division does have a lot more resources now and I am sure Walter can get by without you just fine."

"You're really cute when you try and pretend you're okay with things when you're really not, you know that?" Peter says in a knowing voice, unable to resist teasing her. "Admit it Dunham… you would miss having me around. In fact you missed me quite a bit today didn't you? Did you spend all day doodling my initials on your notepad?"

"No, I did not. I am a grown woman, not a high schooler…" She protests. "And as for not having you as my partner, well I'll just get over it, like everything else." She tells him. "It's not a big deal."

"Liar." Peter clicks his tongue at her mockingly. "The truth is you'd be completely lost without me. You need me at your side."

"To what end? You don't really do anything except make sarcastic remarks about everything. I don't even know why the agency keeps you on the payroll honestly." She says a tad too defensively, shifting her attention to her daughter, who apparently has been lulled to sleep by her parents' banter, unable to fight the soft smile that makes its way to her face when she takes in the sight of her lips closing and opening, as she burrows further into her neck, before sighing contently having found her zone of comfort.

_I know the feeling._ She can't help thinking to herself, as her heart constricts almost painfully at the thought of having to go back, given that most of her lunch hour was already gone. She had known it was impractical to drive all the way here when she'd barely have ten minutes with her baby, but the thought of not getting to see her till the end of the day was almost too unbearable and so she had done just that.

"You really miss her don't you?" Peter's voice breaks through her reverie of thoughts. The earlier teasing replaced with an understanding tone.

"It's really hard... I almost wanted to quit and drive back home, the moment I got there." She admits. "I guess I wasn't prepared for just how hard it would be to be away from her…. Tell me it gets easier, please?" She asks him.

"It'll get easier, trust me." He says giving her a reassuring smile. "It's only your first day back and you'll need some time to adjust. I know it's always been your style to power through your personal problems when it comes to your work, but it's okay to feel like this. Even star agent Olivia Dunham, savior of the universes, is allowed to miss her daughter."

"Well it's not just her daughter that she misses." She says a little shyly, not able to really look Peter in the eye.

"Really now? I had no idea." He says slyly.

"I was so out of sync the whole day… I guess I never realized just how much I rely on having you around." She confesses, not able to keep the blush from flooding her cheeks. "Suppose I'll have to get used to doing it solo if you're planning on following through on your whole new age dad in the park act."

"I do pull it off don't I?" He asks obviously a little amused at his own ease with this new role which a few years ago, nobody in their right mind would have pegged him for.

He's always been good with kids but that's merely been an extension of his ability to connect with people in general and not so much parental instinct.

"Surprisingly well." She nods aware of the irony of the situation. She'd never believed he wouldn't be good at this, because well he's Peter and he's always been irritatingly good at everything.

But for him to be such a natural at fatherhood is a little disconcerting…

"It does have its benefits…" Peter says, not missing the way Olivia's face falls slightly with disappointment even while she nods understandingly. "And it certainly beats having your hands full with disgusting things while Walter rattles off on his tangents of absurd… but…"

"But?"

"As wonderful as this is…. somebody has to have your back. And I am thinking since no one else will put up with your stubbornness and slave driving, it'll have to be me." He shrugs.

"Is that your underhanded way of saying you'd miss working with me too?" Olivia asks smiling.

"Yeah because I just can't get enough of being dragged out of bed by you in the middle of the night to go look at gruesome bodies of people who have died horrifying deaths." He says throwing her a sideways grin.

"Well, I personally don't see how staying in bed without me could be all that exciting a prospect." She counters easily, having learnt long ago, that his witticisms are simply a way of hiding his true feelings. "In fact it would drive you crazy to not be in the loop as much as you'd like to think otherwise. You can pretend Bishop, but you love this job just as much as I do gruesome bodies and all…. and you love the woman you work with too, maybe just a little bit."

"Just a smidge… when she's not driving me insane that is." He tells her in a mock-serious voice.

"I am sure she appreciates that more than you'll know." She smiles, absently checking her watch. "I have to go now." She says, feeling an immediate pang of regret as she moves to settle the sleeping baby back into the pram, her arms feeling bereft of the weight of her daughter in an instant and Olivia audibly sighs.

"Come here." Peter puts his arms around her and pulls her close, pressing a kiss to her forehead and she leans against his shoulder him for a few seconds. "It'll get better in a while." He tells her again.

"I know…." She closes her eyes, "I'll have you by my side."


	16. Chapter 16

_Ella and I had this whole day at the amusement park planned, and then dinner after. She was completely understanding when I told her that I had to work. When my mom took me to my first movie when I was six, I was so excited. She bought me a box of popcorn, and we took our seats. You know, they used to have that curtain before the movie started? It was this beautiful red velvet. We sat there eating popcorn. And after a couple minutes, I turned to her and said, "Mommy, this is the best movie ever." I didn't understand that it hadn't started. It's one of my favorite memories of my mother._

_Don't worry; you'll make plenty of memories with Ella._

The memory runs through his head unbidden for some reason as Peter sits there in the back of the train trying to make sense of everything around him.

Twenty years …

Twenty years have passed since the day he was ambered, much, much longer since he had had that conversation with Olivia.

Maybe it's because the case they were working on had to do with an observer or maybe it's just his brains becoming addled from being inactive in over two decades.

He has more important things he needs to take care of right now. He has to find Olivia, come up with a plan, put in motion everything that he's been waiting to do for so long, work on assembling a team, get his hands on a gun if it's the last thing he'll do.

There's so much to be done and yet his mind keeps going back to that conversation.

He thinks about Ella. The last time he'd seen her she'd been twelve years old, acting all grown up and trying to convince Rachel and Olivia that they should let her babysit Etta and her brother all on her own while the two of them went out.

He remembers getting a call from her while he was at the lab, in tears and obviously distressed, asking him to come back and rushing home to find the nursery turned upside down and the two younger kids calmly sitting on the floor in the midst of all the chaos playing with their blocks.

"I just told them both that they couldn't have a cookie till after lunch and then Etta got upset and her face suddenly got red and intense and then everything started flying around for a few seconds and then it all fell to the ground. Peter I don't know what happened. I swear I didn't do anything." She says obviously rattled at the events that had transpired. "You promise you won't tell Mom or Aunt Liv. She'll be so mad at me."

"Hey come here." He had pulled her into a hug. "It's okay. Trust me. You're not the one she's going to be mad at." He had said warily looking at his three year old who had looked up from her blocks and smiled at him so sweetly that he couldn't help smiling back at her, completely at odds with the thundering fear that had filled him to the brim when the implications of the incident began to hit him with full force.

Etta…

Peter swallows painfully, clenching his jaws. Now is not the time for that he tells himself.

He can't even let himself think of her right now because if he does… he doesn't think he could survive it.

In the six months that she'd been gone from their lives before they were ambered, he can count on one hand the number of times he had let himself think of Etta, unlike Olivia who had pretty much thought of nothing else really.

Every second of every minute of every day, she had kept her in her thoughts while still having the strength to charge ahead and fight the good fight.

He remembers the two of them being on the run, hiding from observers who were hunting them down like rabid dogs, living in brutal exile…. doing the only thing that they could do which was to survive. Even then, when time and day had simply lost meaning altogether….Olivia had held on to her.

He remembers like it was yesterday when she had suddenly without warning begun crying one starry night when she'd assumed he had been asleep, as they took shelter in yet another abandoned building.

"What's wrong?" He'd asked her, when he heard muffled sobs that she was obviously trying to hide from him, aware of just how stupid the question was.

Too much was wrong… had been for a really long time.

"It's nothing..." She'd said shaking her head, turned away from him, as she hastily wiped her face.

"It can't be nothing if it's making you cry." He'd turned her towards him and cupped her face to look at her, taken aback by the raw sadness in her eyes.

Not that either of them had been even close to happy in the past few months, but masking what they truly felt had always been second nature to both of them and when the world around them was crashing and burning like a house of matches, personal feelings were rather easy to disregard.

Even with each other, where there was hardly any need to pretend.

"It's stupid really…" She had said leaning into his palm, as she struggled to keep another tear from spilling out.

"What is it Liv?" He'd urged her.

"It's her birthday today…" Her voice was almost a strangled whisper.

Peter had felt like all the oxygen had just been sucked out him.

"Oh…" was all he had managed to say, aware of how hollow and toneless his voice must have sounded.

He hadn't even remembered.

"I am sorry…" She had pursed her lips, already steeling herself. "I know you don't like to talk about…"

"Don't. Please don't be sorry Liv. God I…" He had felt so ashamed of himself in that moment, for not only having forgotten such an important day, but to have made Olivia feel like she had to be apologetic about the fact that she had remembered.

"It's her birthday…" He had repeated, unable to stop himself unexpectedly from smiling of all the things… "Etta's five years old today, Liv."

"Yes she is. Can you believe that?" Olivia asked, smiling herself. "Remember when we brought her home…. she was so tiny."

"You would wince every time I carried her as if I was about to drop her any second." He almost laughed, thinking of the absolutely petrified look she had on the whole time.

"Well you'd never held a baby before so of course I was scared you were going to drop her." She shook her head as the inevitable sadness gripped her once more.

"We'll never get to see her again…" She'd said in such a matter of fact voice that it had chilled him to the bone.

"Don't say that Liv. You don't know that." He's said. He'd wished there was more he could say to her, words of hope that showed more resolve, more hope.

But hope was really not something he could muster right then.

She reached into her coat pocket to fish out something and held it out in her palm for him to see.

"Is that…"

She'd nodded "I had it made a long time ago….. And I wanted to give it to her today. I've been carrying it around ever since that night …because for some insane reason I kept hoping that we'd have her back before today. That I'd get to give it to her. But today's gone and she's not with us … on her birthday." She clenches the necklace in her palm tightly. "And I can't help thinking she'll never be with us again."

He'd taken her hand and slowly taken the necklace from her. "Give it to me. I'll make sure she gets it."

"It's too dangerous to contact Nina…" She'd protested. "You could be found out."

"It's just a chance I'll have to take. Can't have Etta thinking we didn't remember her birthday now can we? She'll simply blackmail us into buying her more presents next year if we let her. " He'd given her a weak smile, hiding behind the façade of that very impossible scenario than face the reality.

It's probably the only time he'd let himself remember how beautiful things had once been. He wasn't strong like Olivia. He couldn't allow himself to indulge in memories that were all too painful a reminder as to how he had failed her, failed his family, because it would have broken him beyond reparation to confront that awful truth.

Forget about making them happy, he couldn't even keep them together.

So he had simply shut down everything that even remotely connected to his daughter, locking up all that hurt in a vault deep within his heart.

But her essence had bled through anyway, just like it had on that night, like it was doing right now even though he's trying his hardest to obliterate those thoughts.

His mind keeps replaying the conversation he had had with Olivia over two decades ago and he can't think for the life of him why he's remembering it now.

He knows if he's willing to concede it… it really has something to do with Etta.

It always does.

The fact that Olivia never got to make any memories with either of them…

The fact that she was cheated out of time with the people she loved the most, her sister, her niece, their daughter…

But he doesn't want to go there right now.

His gaze drifts towards the girl at the end of train, looking out of the window. The girl he owes his freedom and his second chance to.

He hadn't even bothered to ask her name.

It's probably her… the reason the conversation keeps popping in his head. The girl reminds him of that twelve year old Ella for some reason, determined and serious as she was trying to convince her aunt and her mother why she should be made in charge.

It's the same streak of tenacity that he'd seen Olivia display so many times herself, something which he's sure his daughter would have inherited too.

He knows he shouldn't be staring, but he can't help taking a closer look at the girl. Not that she seems to be aware of course, lost as she is in her own thoughts.

Her bearing and features have an odd familiarity, like they're almost calling out to him.

Absurdly, Peter can't help thinking she bears a striking resemblance to Olivia.

Stands to reason given she's been on his mind ever since he got out and history will prove that he has always been prey to seeing what he wants to see when it comes to her.

It's probably the blond hair, he thinks, shaking off his thoughts. He just misses his wife too much.

He stands up, feeling his joints audibly crack at the motion, his body still rusty from being frozen in time for so long.

He figures he should at least go and thank her for what she did for him instead of letting himself be tortured by his inner demons. It's really not the time to be wondering about the past.

He does have the rest of his life to wallow in misery about that.

Peter walks up to her, trying to think of something to say that would convey the gratitude he feels towards her, but when she turns towards him, her eyes wavering and looking deeply unsettled, an unmistakable sadness there, he forgets what he has come to say.

"I'm sorry about your friend. We'll do everything we can to get him back. I promise." He says instead, feeling acutely bothered by that look of sadness.

She nods at him, slightly nervous, but still very composed and even gives him a half-smile. Peter realizes that she probably doesn't want to talk about her partner right now, least of all to a complete stranger such as himself. He makes to leave, but he finds himself staring once again at her face, feeling completely entranced by it.

He knows he should look away, especially now when she's looking back at him, but there's something about those eyes that's calling out to him too strongly and he can't stop his gaze from locking into hers.

Surprisingly, she doesn't look uncomfortable at his unashamed appraisal. She's staring back at him instead, almost hopefully.

"Do you...Know me?" Peter hears her voice for the first time. It falters and is so unsure…. and he doesn't know quite how he's supposed to respond to that question in any other way except make a joke because what else is he to say to something like that.

But the expression on her face is so hopeful and pained at the same time that he can't bring himself to make light of her bizarre question.

He gives her what he hopes is a comforting smile and shakes his head... "I don't know how I could…" He tries to tell her kindly, feeling his heart constrict rather unexpectedly at the way her face falls in an instant and her eyes become bluer and wider and….wetter.

The question of why she seems to be tearing up doesn't really concern him so much in that moment as getting her to stop… any which way he can.

"I've been stuck in that Amber for over twenty years…" He finds himself explaining somehow for a wrong that he doesn't know he's done to her…. "You barely look old enough….."

It only takes a moment as he realizes the significance of his own words… and when he looks at her, it feels like he's been blasted out of the amber yet again.

Because he realizes he recognizes those eyes…

They've stared back at him from the mirror all his life.

He's seen them on the face of a child before…

And the same eyes are looking at him now pleadingly, tears swimming in them, wordlessly asking him to recognize a truth that's beating all too uncomfortably against his own chest.

The thought of being wrong about this…. it's enough to not want to even consider the possibility.

But his hand moves of its own volition, suspended in midair waiting for him act.

"Henrietta?"

It's a question and a confirmation in the same moment, as his palm inches closer to her face, an ancient weight lifted of his heart as she nods in heartbreaking relief and smiles at him.

Still too hesitantly, almost not sure if she wouldn't just disappear if he touched her, he runs his thumb lightly over her cheek, too dazed to register much else but the very real feeling of her soft skin under his calloused fingertip.

Peter wants to laugh… or cry or do both or nothing except simply look at her for now and know that she's real and not just a figment of his imagination.

"Hi, Dad…" She says to him…like she had simply run into him casually, like she hadn't just seen him for the first time in over twenty years.

But her body betrays her badly, letting him know just how much she's scared of being rejected, of not being acknowledged for who she was ….that somehow he had forgotten her.

It's a look he remembers from when he'd been an hour late because of a traffic jam to pick her up from preschool one time. The crestfallen way in which she'd been sitting in the empty classroom waiting for him, the mixed look of relief and sadness she'd given him when she had laid eyes on him… he remembers it all too well.

_"I thought you'd forgotten me, daddy." She'd said eyes watery and her voice very upset because in her three year old universe, there was potentially nothing more frightening than having been left to wait for an hour without her father coming to get her._

_"Like I'd ever forget you." He'd said smiling and picking her up, and she had literally crashed into him, hugging him so tightly that he couldn't breathe for a second. _

_"It's okay sweetheart. I am here now." He had said, holding her close, running his hand through her hair. "I am here now." _

She's not three anymore, but Peter knows it's the same assurance she needs right now, and so without any more uncertainty, he pulls her into his embrace, willing his legs to stand and not cave as she hugs him with an impossible tightness, burying her head into his chest, and dissolves into silent tears.

There is so much to say and do…. so many questions to be asked and answered and yet he doesn't speak for a long time, simply clutching her tightly and running his hand through her hair. Thinking to himself the same thing he'd said to her so many years ago.

_It's okay sweetheart. I am here now._


	17. Chapter 17

On some nights they will meet to talk. To reminisce about the past and worry about the future.

Clandestine meetings had been their modus operandi long before the observers. A bottle of scotch, some jazz on the stereo and bizarre stories to share, worrying about the world together.

Inevitably they talk about her on most nights.

"I can't get her to stop Philip. She just won't let go. I am worried she's going to get herself killed the way she takes reckless chances and gets into trouble all the time, She's only nineteen and her abilities are just getting stronger every day and to say nothing about the little exhibitions she likes to make when she gets angry, which happens a lot nowadays. If they find out…"

"We'll have to make sure they never do." He says firmly. "That's what I came here about. You need to talk her into applying to the Fringe division, when she graduates this year. I'll make sure she gets in"

"How can you possibly suggest that? It's too dangerous… Olivia would never forgive me if something happened to her."

"Something will happen to her if she keeps looking into things she shouldn't be anywhere near. And we both know she's not going to stop. She'll be safer if she does it with a badge and a gun. I can keep tabs on her that way, make sure she's protected."

"Even if that were true, I am never going to be able to convince her to join you. She hates the Fringe division, hates everything it stands for. As far as she's concerned, it was responsible for taking her parents away and she won't have anything to do with it. She hacked into your mainframes last week just because she was mad at some loyalist who tried to grope her on the train."

"I could sense her handiwork, the moment I heard about it. That doesn't surprise me at all. I assume she did something worse to him."

"She punched him in the face and bloodied his nose. Man had to be taken to the hospital. I had to pull every string in my purse to keep her out of jail."

"She certainly has her father's volatility."

"Yes and its proving more and more difficult to contain it. She's just so cross and bitter nowadays. Last night at dinner, I couldn't even get two words out of her. She's losing her hope of finding them, Philip. And if she doesn't have that, I am not sure I can keep her from becoming more self-destructive."

"Send her to me. Use any and all influence you have on her, but get her to do this Nina. It's the only way."

* * *

"You've cleared the physicals with flying colors and your written test results are impressive… I've never seen anyone score so high on them before actually. " The man tells her somewhat in awe, looking at her file.

"Really, that's a surprise because I never do well on those things." Etta says in a toneless voice, looking at her nails before she turns her attention to the two men in front of her.

Broyles is looking at her impassively while the younger agent, the one with the British accent seems a little taken aback at her blasé response. He hides it well though.

Simon has seen seasoned cops become putty in front of his boss and this teenager that they're interviewing for some god forsaken reason that Broyles won't share with him… acts like she's doing them a favor by being there.

She is cute as a button though…

"According to your transcripts, you're due to graduate this spring from MIT." He hear his boss say evenly.

"Are you worried that they're fake because I can understand your concern…sir." She tells him innocently though Broyles knows she's baiting him.

It must have taken Nina an extraordinary effort to get her here and whatever she has been blackmailed into doing, she's not going to do it happily.

"I don't have any such concerns. You are no doubt a very bright young woman." He manages to say ignoring her provocation.

"I am not all that bright. I got lost on my way to your office. Got confused and walked into a maintenance closet. Go figure huh…" She flashes him an all too familiar smirk. "But your office is nicer. Way better than the maintenance closet. Love the mahogany furniture. Top notch really..."

Simon thinks Broyles will be discharging his weapon on this girl if she stays there for another minute and he almost wants to intervene and tell her to get lost before that happens.

"Thank you…" His boss says instead and the girl seems almost disappointed by his reaction.

"Now…can you tell me why you want to be part of Fringe division?"

"Would you believe me if I said I tossed a coin between this and backpacking across Central Asia?" She says flippantly and Simon knows now that she's asking for it.

"And I was really looking forward to seeing Mongolia too. My father once told me that till you've seen a Mongolian horse race, you haven't seen anything at all. But I digress. You don't want to hear about my father now do you Gen. Broyles?"

The way she asks the question… it's almost like an accusation and he almost recoils from the coldness in her stare.

Broyles cannot believe that is the same little girl who used to run to her mother the minute she saw her in the lobby of this very building, asking to be picked up and rattling away dime a dozen about her day even before she was settled in her arms.

The one who's looking at him now like he was responsible for taking all that away from her.

"If it's relevant to the question…" he says once again choosing to ignore her open defiance.

"Why do I want to join Fringe Division?" She repeats the question, as if testing the words in her mouth and then she shrugs, "Maybe because I feel this is what I was born to do."

"Do you care to elaborate?" Simon asks her, beyond shocked at the kid gloves with which Broyles is handling this girl.

Phillip Broyles is not a man who puts up with bullshit of any kind and she was going out of her way to piss him off.

There's something more to this story…

"No… not really…" she shakes her head. " Do you have any other questions for me… sir?" she asks Broyles now

"No… we're about done. We need you to do a drug test for us before you leave though." He tells her.

"Absolutely…. I love doing those…" She gives them a wide smile before getting up to leave and then turns towards Simon. "Speaking of… I should probably tell you that I have a history of mental illness and illicit drug use in my family. You should make a note of that." She winks at him and turns to leave.

"You'll be hearing from us…" Broyles tells her before she's out of the door.

"I can't wait." She says with so much fake cheeriness in her voice that Simon thinks her teeth must hurt.

"Put her through weapons and defense training and skip everything else. You should have her working cases in the field by the end of the year." Broyles tells him once she's out of sight.

"You can't be serious about this…" Simon asks incredulously.

"I've made my decision Agent Foster…"

"But sir with all due respect all that girl wants to seem to do is create trouble…"

"Appearances can be deceptive. Despite what she seems… she'll be the best agent you've had in years." He says not looking at him, lost in thought instead.

"If you believe that…"

"I know that." Broyles tells him in a tone that tells him it's not up for discussion. "And Agent Foster… I want you to keep an eye on her. No harm can come to her, under any circumstances. That's an order."

"Yes sir…" He nods. "That is if she takes the job right?"

"She will..."

* * *

"How's school?" Ella asks cheerfully, as the waitress leaves having taken their breakfast orders.

"Trite. Insipid. Uninspiring. I don't know. Choose you SAT word." Etta rolls her eyes as she takes a sip of her water.

"You go to one of the best engineering schools in the world. You can't possibly be that disappointed with college?"

"Well higher learning loses its appeal when fascists are telling you what books you're allowed to read and basically ordering Nobel prize winners around as to what they can teach in class, don't you think?" Etta asks meeting her square in her eyes.

"Etta…" Ella gives her a warning look, automatically looking around to see if they're any observers. The restaurant they go to every week is a little outside the city and though they have never seen any around, she still can't help worry.

"What…I am not scared." Her cousin shrugs.

"Well I am. Unlike you I will bleed from my ears to death if they tried to get into my head. But it's nice to know you don't care all that much about me." Ella jokes.

"Don't say that." Etta says her blue eyes turning wide and troubled at the suggestion. "That's not funny El."

"It's a little bit funny. You can dish it out but you can't take it can you?" She smiles and gets a scowl in return.

"Have you thought about what you want to do... once you're done with trite, insipid and uninspiring…?" She asks casually, throwing a thoughtful glance at her cousin, trying to gauge her reaction.

"Yeah because the world is just teeming with opportunities for us to all shine and be our personal best right?" Etta says darkly. "Honestly, can you look me in the eye and tell me any of that matters?"

"Yes it does. Of course it does…" Ella says feeling unsettled by the cynicism in the voice of someone so young. "You have to do everything you can do to live your life meaningfully Etta, no matter how bad things get. Otherwise what's the point?"

"Well I am planning on leaving here when I am finally done with school. That meaningful enough for you?" She tells her seriously, without any derision in her tone.

"What? Where will you go?" Ella asks concerned at the seriousness in her tone.

"Anywhere. I don't care. I'll do something…anything. But I won't live like this anymore, like some freak of nature who has to be kept under watchful eyes all the time because she might decide to cause an explosion or anything."

"That's not true and you know that."

"Isn't it? My entire life, all anyone has done is try to hide me and who I am like a shameful secret. Do you know how that makes me feel?" Etta asks her with a disgusted expression.

"All anybody is doing is trying to keep you safe." Ella says quietly but with force in her voice. "I would shout from the rooftops about how proud I am of everything you are if you can guarantee that it won't get you killed."

"That's a convenient excuse isn't it?"

"It's also a legitimate one. I am sorry if our love and concern is such a source of frustration to you. But I'd rather have you alive and mad at us, than dead somewhere in Baden-Baden if it's all the same to you."

"You don't understand…" Etta shakes her head.

"Maybe I don't. I don't know what it's like to be different the way you are Etta, but I doubt running away will solve anything."

"It doesn't make anything worse. It's not like someone's coming to find me anyway right." Etta says abject disappointment in her voice and she knows when her cousin looks at her with understanding that she's let the mask of her anger slip and shown her just what's truly bothering her.

"Etta…" She says gently.

"Forget it; tell me what's happening with you?"

"You're not very subtle about changing the subject are you?"

"I find the concept overrated. How are things at the hospital?"

"Same old. Let's go back to talking about you. I heard you got a job offer from Fringe Division."

"News travels fast..." Etta comments noncommittally, picking up a menu and absently looks through it.

"Do you think you'll do it?" Ella asks her, cutting right to the chase.

"And give everyone the satisfaction. I don't think so." She gives her cousin a humorless smile, and goes back to pretending to read the menu that she's already memorized from their weekly visits.

"You're just like Peter you know that." Ella shakes her head, unable to fight a smile.

"No….How would I know that now?" Etta asks, her voice dripping with sarcasm, taking on a definite edge.

"Etta... come on. Don't be like that." Her cousin says warmly, trying to change the mood of their conversation which was rapidly going downhill.

"You know I am really tired of everyone telling me what I should be like. I don't need it from you too El." Etta points out.

"Well you obviously do. Nina told me what you were up to last week. Hacking into police mainframes? Not a very smart move there." She tells her, disapproval clear in her voice.

"That because I am trying not to be smart for a change…" Etta says dryly and Ella can't help thinking just the snark in her voice, if not her comeback would have made Peter proud. "It's working out really well for me except for the lectures, which I can certainly do without. That's what I go to college for. To sit and listen to redundant information that I already knew when I was twelve."

"Sweetie everybody's really worried about you." Ella tells her in a soft voice, urging her to understand. "Mom's always calling me about you because of what she hears from Nina, who is by the way waiting to hear from a police station or an emergency room any of these days now. If Eddie wasn't in Europe right now, this would be a full scale intervention."

"What does she care?" Etta asks incredulously, really angry now. "What does anyone care? She's not my mother, neither is Aunt Rachel and you certainly aren't. Why won't you guys stop treating me like a child?"

"Because you won't stop acting like one." Ella tells her unfazed. "And we care about you because we love you." She tries to take her hand, but Etta pushes it away. "Etta… I may not be all that older than you, but you're my responsibility and I won't let you get hurt for being stupid."

"You're not responsible for me." Etta scoffs.

"Yes I am. I promised your mom." Ella tells her firmly, her eyes turning soft and nostalgic as she remembers a memory from so long ago. "You know the day you were born, I went to visit Aunt Liv in the hospital and she had you in her arms. She asked me to come sit by her side and she took my hand and laid it against yours and told me that I had to take care of you always. That she was counting on me to be the best big sister in the entire world. And I don't plan on letting her down. "

"Well guess what El? Your precious Aunt Liv isn't here anymore." Etta says her voice tense, on the edge of tears as she stands up from her seat. "She hasn't been here for fifteen years. She left me on my own and disappeared to God knows where because I just wasn't that important when compared to saving the world and while you have to give the woman kudos for her priorities it makes it a little irrelevant what she asked you to do for me, considering she was never here to do it herself. And you and Nina and Aunt Rachel, you can all just stop with your worrying. I don't need it. You don't have to pity me because of some obligation you feel towards my mother. I'll be fine on my own. Obviously my parents knew that, so you should too."

She walks out before Ella can call out after her.

* * *

"I knew I'd find you here." Ella says taking a seat next to her on the grass.

"You can't just let things go can you?"

"Nope." She smiles at her. "It's a very Dunham thing as I am sure you're aware. Plus I actually came because you stuck me with check and it was your turn to pay…. you owe me fifteen dollars and fifty cents, just so you know. I got us our breakfast to go. Thought maybe we can have a picnic right here?"

Etta snorts at the suggestion knowing only her cousin was capable of suggesting a picnic in what was essentially a partial junkyard.

She'd never understood that about Ella. How she could be so optimistic even as the world they lived in took a turn for the worse every day.

"I am not hungry."

"Of course you are…. I certainly am not going to pretend that I am not. I think there's no reason why we should let our bodies starve because we're mad at each other. So please just take the food. I don't relish eating by myself."

Etta doesn't say anything, choosing instead to stare at the river which was greyer than blue really in front of them, but she accepts the takeout box from her without any protest.

For a while they sit in silence eating.

"Your dad used to bring the three of us down here sometimes in the summer and we would race toy ships in the water. You, me and Eddie." Ella remarks absently "Sometimes if the water was calm enough, we'd even swim. It didn't look like this back then you know. It was beautiful."

"I am sure it was." Etta says having trouble imagining the sludgy waters of the Charles being anything worth swimming or sailing toy ships in. Her hand absently comes to play with her necklace. A kneejerk reaction anytime she thinks about her parents.

"And he used to take us ice-skating during Christmas break. One time, he tried to teach us how to play hockey and you almost broke Eddie's nose with your stick? Do you remember that?"

"Of course I don't remember El." Etta says tiredly. "Just like I don't remember anything else about my parents. I don't know why you keep asking me when you know perfectly well that I don't remember."

"Because I don't want you to forget." Ella says gently. "You may not remember Etta, but you have no idea how much your parents loved you. I won't have you thinking they left you because they didn't care about you or thought there was something more important, because that is not true." Ella tells her emphatically, before pressing on.

"And I certainly can't let you go on believing that any of us, me or mom or Nina worry about you because we feel obligated. We do it because we love you and we'll continue to do it no matter how hard you try to annoy us or push us away. We're your family. You still have that despite how alone you think you are."

"El… I..." Etta says suddenly ashamed of the way she's been behaving, even more ashamed at the telltale sign of tears fighting a strong battle against her eyelids. "I miss them so much." She says her voice low and ridiculously wobbly. She hugs herself tightly, trying not to let the weakness overwhelm her.

"I know you do…"

"No you don't. Nobody does." She shakes her head furiously. "You, Aunt Rachel, Nina….you all have the luxury of remembering them. I don't even have that and I still miss them so much even though I can't even remember what they look like. And every day goes by and I keep thinking I'll never see them again and there's no point to anything if that's true."

"Etta come here." Ella says pulling into her into a sideways hug. "You can't think like that. You have to stay strong."

"I tried. I tried so hard to be strong." The younger girl looks at her, anguish writ so large in her face that Ella almost has to look away from the raw pain in her eyes. "For the last fifteen years, I have woken up every day and told myself that today's the day I'll see my parents again. That I'll come home and they'll be waiting for me and then the day goes by and I go to bed every night feeling so disappointed that it nearly kills me. I can't do this anymore El. I feel like I'll go mad if I don't stop lying to myself."

Ella simply pulls her closer into her embrace and doesn't say anything for a few seconds and Etta doesn't fight it, putting her arms around her and hugging her back instead.

She's one of the few people who has ever been allowed to show physical affection to her cousin. But even then she's never been particularly comfortable with it. And the fact that she was allowing the hug to go this long is an indicator of just how sad she's been recently.

"Well then you should definitely stop doing that to yourself." Ella brushes an errant lock of hair away from her face when they break apart, the way Aunt Liv used to do to the both of them. "You have to stop waiting for them to come to you and start trying to find them yourself."

"I've tried…. but." Etta protests.

"I am not talking about the La Femme Nikita stunts you like to pull. That's just not smart and the only purpose that will serve is get you locked up in some secret dungeon cell someday. You should consider joining Fringe Division. It's the only place you'll ever get the answers you want and use your special gifts to actually help people. People who need it. I know your potential better than anybody and you could do a lot of good you know that."

"Fringe division is possibly the most spineless organization on this planet, existing solely for the purpose of kissing observer ass. How can I possibly do any good there?" Etta says dismissively, her flippancy back in full swing.

"Shows how little you know…" Ella tells her smugly. "You're a smart girl. Possibly the smartest person I know and yet you can be totally clueless sometimes you know that."

"What are you implying El?" Etta asks suspiciously. She knows of course that Ella works with the resistance, doing medic work for them, smuggling drugs and medications. She's helped her do that herself several times.

"That you'll find what you're looking for if you just learn to look in the right places." Ella tells her cryptically. "There are people who can help you there you know. Simon for one… he was very intrigued by your little performance at the interview. Told me about this weird blond girl who basically flipped Broyles the finger and still got hired. I figured it had to be you."

"Simon?"

"He's a friend…"

"And by friend you mean…"

"I mean someone you can count on to help you." Ella tells her, giving her a meaningful glance. "If you promise me that you won't be stupid anymore and run around pissing off observers simply because you have the brains to do it, I'll make sure that you get assigned under him."

"You really think this is the job for me?" Etta asks hesitantly.

"I think this is the only job for you Etta. You were born for this whether you realize it not…You'd make your parents really proud."

"You think?"

"I know. You're my favorite little person in the world, you know that right?" Ella tells her, the way she used to when they were younger.

"I am not little anymore…" She immediately protests and Ella laughs.

"Could have fooled me. Now you better those eat those pancakes before they become inedible."

"Agent Bishop… sounds cool don't you think?" Etta says a happy smile on her lips for the first time since that morning.

"Very cool….Except you won't be going by that name. Don't forget that." Ella points out.

"They'll let me carry a gun right El… a cool one." She's asking her now, already chattering about something that's on her mind and Ella shakes her head, amazed for the umpteenth time at her ability to bounce back from things, like they'd never happened.

_I really wish you were here Aunt Liv… she needs you so much. We both do._


	18. Chapter 18

Aunt Liv is Ella's favorite person in the whole world.

They have always shared something very special.

She loves when they go to visit her. The way she'll snuggle in bed with them and tell them stories or make pancakes for her when she wakes her up early in the morning. She looks forward to all the fun stuff they do together.

Her aunt has a really busy job, but she always makes time for them when they come to Boston.

She's standing outside the airport waiting for them and Ella runs without hesitation to her, unmindful of the people jostling piles of luggage around her, leaving her mom and her brother far behind and launches herself into her embrace.

"Hey there... sweetheart." She ruffles her hair, hugging her tightly.

"Mommy told me you're having a baby. Is it true? Is she here? Can I see her?" She's jumping with excitement.

Her aunt laughs, pulling her close once more. "She's not here yet honey. But when she's here, you'll be one of the first people who'll get to see her. Promise."

Ella only then notices the man standing next to her aunt, hands in his peacoat, smiling at her with familiarity but not saying anything.

"Who's he?" She asks suddenly shy.

"This is my friend Peter." Aunt Liv tells her, the widest smile on her face.

"It's nice to meet you Ella." He tells her warmly, holding his hand out for her to shake.

There's something different about her when they go back to her new house. The one she lives in with Peter. She looks at Eddie like she's seeing for the first time and she has a weird look on her face every time she mentions her dad that she covers up with a tight smile.

But she also sees something else.

She's only eight but she doesn't think she's seen her aunt so happy… ever.

* * *

"Come here…" Aunt Liv tells her smiling softly, patting the place next to her on the bed, as Ella stands in the doorway slightly hesitant.

She moves forward cautiously. She doesn't know why she's feeling nervous as she sits next to her, but she does.

The baby in her arms is so tiny… Ella doesn't think she's seen anything so small that's human. Her little brother was much bigger when he was born.

"She's beautiful Aunt Liv." She tells her closely looking at the baby who was now looking back at her with something like curiosity.

"Isn't she? She looks like you when you were this little, you know that." She tells her.

She reaches her hand out, looking at her aunt for a signal that it was okay to do so.

Her aunt simply takes her hand and intertwines it with the baby's own tiny hand.

"I am counting on you to take care of her for me. You have to be the world's best big sister to her. Think you can do that for me Ella?"

Ella feels the baby's' fist tighten around her. She smiles at her aunt.

She can do that…

* * *

Her mom won't say anything to her on the flight to Boston. She looks scared, confused, angry and really sad all at the same time and Ella doesn't know what's wrong.

Of course things have been strange in general the last year. The fact that they had to cancel their annual summer trip here, or that she hasn't spoken to Aunt Liv in several months, or that weird bald men are showing up everywhere.

The last time Aunt Liv had called her was eight months ago... on her birthday.

_"Is Etta there? I want to talk to her…" she tells her, glad to hear her voice after so long._

_There is silence on the other end for a few seconds, and then her aunt's voice turns really thick like she has a cold. _

_ "Umm Peter's taken her to the park honey…I'll tell her that you asked about her when she gets back okay?"_

They don't take the cab to her aunt's home like they usually do but to some address that she's never been to before.

It's a penthouse apartment, shiny and slick like those pictures in interior décor magazine her mom likes to buy. Everything's steel and glass and wanders around the place, obviously forgotten while her mother is having a heated argument with Nina.

"What do you mean they're gone? How does that happen?"

"I can't tell you everything Rachel, you know that. And honestly we don't even know for sure what happened. You really shouldn't have come. The situation is very tense right now and you've seen the observers around for yourself."

"I don't care about your situations or those creepy bald men. I came here to collect my niece and I am not leaving without her."

"Rachel…please understand..."

"No you understand … that is my sister's only child and you have been keeping her in this awful place all by herself for the last six months when you had absolutely no right to do that. She's my responsibility Nina."

"Rachel… Etta has everything she needs here. She's very well provided for. I have ensured that she has the best of everything."

"God Nina...she's four years old. She doesn't need the best of everything. She needs her family. She needs me."

"Rachel please listen to me. I don't like the idea of this anymore than you do. But Etta is…. she's special and her life is in danger because of that. She needs to be kept safe."

"What are you talking about?"

Their voices grow even more hushed and Ella really can't listen. She makes her way to a bedroom and instinctively opens the door.

It's a large room. The walls are stark and white. There's a small bed in the corner and a kid sized round table and nothing else. It looks nothing like Etta's nursery at her aunt's house. In fact it doesn't look like it was a room where a child should be put at all. Two entire walls have end to end shelves stocked with what seems to be every toy ever made and more children's books than she's seen at the local library her mom takes her and Eddie to…

And yet it looks like the saddest place on earth to Ella.

Etta is sitting in a corner on the floor dressed in a white frock, making her almost part of the background, turned towards the wall, crayons strewn all around, busy with a coloring book.

"Hy..." She says softly.

Etta turns around, startled and looks at her, her eyes turning wider and bluer as recognition sinks in her. She looks at her like she's unreal and then after a few seconds, turns back to her coloring book.

"Etta it's me….El." She moves closer to sit beside her. She puts her hand on hers, but Etta shrugs it away.

"Go away…" she says in a quiet voice, not looking at her.

"What's the matter? Are you mad at me?" She asks gently.

"You forgot me…" Etta says, her voice really upset.

"I didn't forget you…"

"Yes you did…" she nods furiously "Everybody forgot me."

"That's not true. Nobody forgot you."

"Then why won't mommy and daddy come to take me home?" She asks, looking at her with a pain that even at thirteen, Ella instinctively knows, no child that age should have to go through. "I don't like it here. And they never come to see me." Her voice is quivering now and her eyes are sad and watery. "Don't they love me anymore?"

"Etta come here." She takes the younger girl and sits her on her lap, hugging her close. "Your mommy and daddy love you very much. You know that don't you?"

"Is it because I was bad? Because I made the things move with my head." She literally melts into Ella's embrace, holding on so tight that she can't even breathe. She can feel the hot wetness of her tears soaking into her t-shirt.

"That's…. I don't know." Ella says miserably, not sure about how to handle a question like that. "They're not mad at you Etta." She tells her gently, trying to find some words that would help her.

"I promised daddy that I won't do it ever again. But he still left me…Mommy didn't even come with him." She sniffles heartbrokenly against her chest, crying silently.

For the first time in Ella's life, Aunt Liv doesn't seem like the infallible being that she's always thought of her as.

And Peter… who had always been so good to her and her brother, been there for them in ways their dad had never been. She'd always been a little jealous of the way he loved Etta so easily and made sure she knew that, the amazing bond they had, something she has tried so hard to have with her own father and never succeeded.

How could two people who loved their daughter so much do this to her then? She can't help thinking. Whatever their reasons are for leaving Etta like this… it makes her really angry.

"They'll come for you…" She shakes off her own disappointment with them and tells her hopefully, turning her chin upwards so that she can look at her face. "They're just taking care of something really important. But they'll come for you."

"You promise?" She asks very much like the four year old that she is, something Ella always forgets given how she was always so much smarter in every way.

_You better not make me a liar, Aunt Liv._ She thinks to herself.

"I promise."

Her mother's barging into the room the next second, followed by Nina. And she's literally running to Etta as she picks her up and hugs her tightly, smothering her with kisses.

She looks like she's been doing some crying and Ella knows when she sees the miserable look on her mother's face as she rocks the little girl in her arms in silence that they won't be able to take her home with them.

Life really sucks… she thinks.

* * *

"Who's that stocking for El?" Her mother asks her.

"It's for Etta. I was going to put some candy and one of her smaller presents in it. I thought she and Eddie will like that." She says looking at the decorations with pride.

She really loves the holidays.

"Honey… that's very sweet. But I already sent all of Etta's presents to her." Her mom says.

"Why would you do that when we can just give it to her ourselves?" Ella asks puzzled. "When did Nina say they're getting here? It is Christmas Eve in three days mom…"

"El about that…" Her mom begins apologetically.

"You promised…" she cuts her off, trepidation building inside her. " You promised that you would make sure she came home for the holidays. That she would be with us."

"El I tried… and Nina was going to bring her, but something happened and I don't know exactly, but it's too dangerous." Her mom begins to explain.

"It's always too dangerous. That's what you told me the last time they cancelled and the time before that. I don't care… you promised. You promised that you would make sure she was with us no matter what." She shouts angrily.

"Ella… please honey. I know you're upset…"

"We have to go to her…" she says. " If it's too dangerous for her to come to see us. We'll just go to her mom. Please." She asks desperately.

"We can't do that El…I asked Nina. I really did. I told her we'll come see her if she couldn't come… because the thought of her being in that ridiculous apartment by herself on Christmas was killing me...but.." Her mom says fighting tears herself. "Ella come here…" she motions for her to sit down next to her on the couch, lowering her voice to almost a whisper. " I didn't want to tell you this. But somebody tried to abduct Etta a couple of weeks ago."

"No…" she says weakly, her stomach lurching at the thought of that.

"They didn't succeed but they had to move her to a new place and change their security and she's always in so much danger… and it just keep getting worse…and I know you're disappointed. I am too…But you understand that we have to keep her safe before anything else. You understand that don't you? Your Aunt Liv would never forgive us if we let something happen to her."

Ella nods, allowing her mother to hug her, knowing this was upsetting her too.

"I just didn't want her to be alone during the holidays." She says quietly, all the anger out of her voice gone.

"Me too baby…"

After that the holidays never mean much to her.

* * *

When it's time for college, Ella doesn't apply to a single school outside Boston.

Her mother never asks her why.

"These books are a joke…" Etta says flipping idly through the pages of her college textbooks, sprawled on her bed in her new dorm room. "I thought you were going to be a doctor. Shouldn't you be studying something harder? This looks like it was written for kindergartners. "

"It's observer approved curriculum." Ella says, anticipating the eye roll that she's sure to get from her twelve year old cousin. "And it's dumbed down but it's not all that easy. Kids in my class struggle with some of this stuff."

"Are they stupid? I read half of this stuff last year on my own." Etta snorts derisively.

"Just because everybody is not a genius like you doesn't make them stupid Etta." Ella says shaking her head at the superior tone in her voice. Humility has never been one of Etta's stronger traits. "How's that fancy prep school of yours treating you?"

"It's fine. They're making me skip a grade….again." She tells her in a bored voice.

"At this rate you'll be done with high-school before any of your classmates start." Ella laughs, flopping on the bed next to her.

"Yeah isn't that grand. I can be more of a freak than I already was." She says frowning unhappily, as she flips through another page in an almost violent motion.

"Etta you are not a freak… I don't want you talking about yourself like that ever." She tells her sternly.

"Whatever…. Everybody's thinking it anyway." She shrugs.

"Who exactly thinks that?" Ella asks cautiously. "Did someone say something to you?"

"They don't have to El. I can see it in their eyes. The teachers, the kids…they look at me like I am strange… like they're afraid of me." She brings her hand up to play with her necklace. "It's like they know I am not normal…"

"You know what… normal is way overrated. Not when you have an IQ like Einstein and more talents and abilities than anyone in your whole school. Being different is not a bad thing Etta."

Etta looks at her now sadly. "But it's why I can't go anywhere or do anything without bodyguards surrounding me or why Nina makes me move to a new place every six months or why I can't try out for soccer or can't come with you to Chicago for Christmas break ever…." Her voice drops to almost a whisper… "It's also the reason why Mom and Dad sent me away… isn't it?"

Ella sighs… knowing that there was no way to refute that argument. "Etta…I am not going to lie to you. You're old enough and the truth is I really don't know why Aunt Liv and Peter sent you away. Why they left. Nobody knows. But there is something that I do know and that's that they didn't do it because they wanted to. I will bet everything I have on that because I know how much they loved you. "

Etta nods, somewhat unconvinced, and she looks like she's about to say something else, when a man in the black suit, one of many whose names or faces Ella can never remember but who always irritatingly hover around them when they're together, opens her door without knocking.

"It's time to leave." He says dispassionately and then goes away

"I have to go." Etta says pushing herself off the bed, as she brushes a hand over her school uniform and then reaches for her book bag. "I have to do homework anyway." She says weakly, trying to make it seem like it's her choice to leave.

"And what will you do after the whole five minutes that takes you?" Ella jokes… and gets a half smile in return.

"I am working on this software program. It's really cool. Nina thinks it's awesome too. I'll show you when you come over this weekend. You are coming… aren't you?" Etta asks unsurely, trying hard to keep the eagerness out of her voice.

"Nina said I could spend the night. We'll have a slumber party…" She tells her warmly. "Do girl stuff…it'll be fun."

"Fun..." Etta repeats to herself, a wide smile on her face.

"I am really glad you're here now El." She tells her giving her a fierce but quick hug before she runs away in a hurry.

_Me too..._ Ella thinks to herself, trying not to cry for some reason.

* * *

Nina can't help but smile at the two of them… giggling at some actor on the TV, sitting in their flannel pajamas with that giant bucket of popcorn.

The usually pristine coffee table is strewn with every possible type of junk food and she can't bring herself to care.

It's like she's travelled back in time when Olivia and Rachel lived with her, when things were normal. That special connection of sisterhood that they shared that always gladdened her heart.

She sees it between both of them. Ella and Etta.

Nina knows a lot about Dunham stubbornness, having been on the receiving end of it for over a decade.

But Ella has shown her that she still has much to learn. It's impressive the way she made it clear to Nina when she moved here to start college that she planned on being a bigger part of Etta's life.

Without fuss or emotional pleas...She wasn't asking but letting her know.

And even though she had had her reservations about it because of the dangers involved… she's glad of her perseverance on the matter. She knows how lonely Etta gets at times… how much she misses family. And try as she may, Nina can't fully be there for her in the ways she would like to be.

If it were up to her, she would devote what's left of her life to that child and making her feel loved and cared for.

But she didn't have the luxury.

Which is why she's glad of Ella's presence. She doubts there are many nineteen year college students who would willingly trade in a weekend of drunken debauchery and similar pursuits for PG rated movie marathons and sleepovers with their cousin.

The way she is with the younger girl… a gentleness combined with playful candor and so fiercely protective.

It's like Olivia was never gone from their lives…

* * *

She's beyond livid. Every cell in her body is pulsating with rage and Ella thinks she'll explode any minute now.

Somehow she keeps calm. She throws a quick look at Simon… motioning him to follow her through the hospital. They walk through the corridors in silence… someone recognizes her and smiles her way, a second year intern who had once flirted with her.

Ella ignores him and continues to walk until she stops at a closet door, opening it to let him in.

"You were supposed to keep her safe." She says without any ceremony, shutting the door behind her with more force than necessary. "It's the one thing… the only think that I ever asked of you."

"I tried..." He begins.

"Tried is clearly not good enough Simon. She wouldn't be lying unconscious with a dozen broken bones if it were, not to mention the degree of head trauma which we don't know anything about yet. They've beaten her to within an inch of her life. After everything I've done for you… you failed me." Ella says jabbing at his jacket angrily. "How could you let her go by herself? To a loyalist gathering…"

"Hey…. let's get some things straight….I didn't ask her to go... I told her specifically to not to do that…" Simon says a little angry himself. "You seem to be under some misguided notion that I have any say over what Etta does..."

"You're her boss… Forgive me for thinking that you would be able to keep her in line." She scoffs.

"Yeah… and we all know that she's such a good little soldier when it comes to following orders…." He points out to her. "You can get mad at me all you want Ella… but the truth remains that your cousin isn't very appreciative of the fact that the whole world including the both of us are working overtime to keep her from getting killed…"

He stops when he looks at the wetness in her eyes.

"I care about her too El…" He tells her more gently, putting a hand on her shoulder, which she predictably shrugs off. "But this obsession that she has with the old Fringe team is just insane. She'll run after any lead that even points in their direction without the slightest thought. I don't understand what she's trying to find so desperately, but it's going to just keep putting her in these dangerous situations. The only reason she isn't dead already is because I was able to pull her out of there today before somebody actually shot her."

There is an impressive silence for a minute when neither of them speaks.

"Oh God…" Ella exclaims bringing her hands to her mouth feeling the weight of the incident sink in. "I am supposed to protect her… she's my baby sister. If I lost her…Simon..." She shakes her head weakly.

He's pulling her into a hug and even though she fights it for a moment, she gives in.

"You're the only person she'll listen to El. Get her to drop this mad quest of hers." He's saying to her, running his hand through her brown hair.

"Please talk to her."

* * *

Years of medical school and residency have made Ella very resilient to the sight of injured and broken bodies. Working with the resistance has made that tolerance even higher.

But this… having to look at Etta's petite form on a hospital bed with so many bruises and bandages, the pallor of her face almost ghostly.. with the only sign of life being the ever so faint rise and fall of her chest.

She hasn't felt the urge to throw up this strongly since the first time she saw a cadaver.

She clasps her hand in hers, turning it over gently without letting the IV drip come off, bringing her other hand to brush the hair of Etta's face.

There are cigarette marks on her wrist and neck. Someone was torturing her and enjoying it… Ella thinks, trying to hold back a sob.

She's so angry at Etta… so angry that it's burning her up on the inside.

"Stupid girl. What were you thinking?" She asks to the motionless person in front of her.

But she's angrier at herself really…angry for having talked her into becoming a Fringe agent, angry for having suggested to her that she could find her answers through her job, angry for having gotten her involved in the resistance.

She was supposed to take care of Etta… she had promised.

_"I am sorry Aunt Liv…" _ She whispers closing her eyes, too weak to fight the tears anymore. _"I am so sorry I let you down."_

* * *

"I thought I'd brush your hair for you…. I remember you used to really like it when mom did that for you." She takes the brush she's brought out of her jacket and runs it through her long once silky hair which is very knotted up and tangled now.

For a while she brushes in silence, trying not to let the knotted strands of hair break as she tries to free them. She doesn't know if she feels the pain, catatonic as she's been for the past six months.

But it hurts her and that's bad enough.

"Remember the time you helped me do highlights on my hair…my first year in college…" She asks in a forced cheerful voice, pausing for a second as if awaiting a response, before continuing "We got the hair dye all over the bathroom sink and floor and it was a frightening mess. Nina got so mad at us… She's really taken it hard. What happened to you. And she's not the only one."

"Simon really misses you… you know that. I don't know if it's supposed to be a secret but he likes you … the head over heels kind… it's nauseating really. I told him to man up and just ask you out once you're better. He gets all gruff and whines about the resistance….and I am like big deal. Just because you're trying to save the world doesn't mean you can't get some action right?"

She grips the edges of the wheelchair, trying to breathe through the awful silence. The silences that have been killing her on the inside every day for the past six months she's come to see her.

"We're working really hard to find who did this to you. And we'll track them down if it's the last thing I ever do."

She turns the wheel chair around, crouching down to meet her at eyelevel even though she doesn't even look at her.

The same way her eyes had been glazed over the day they found her, lying crumpled in a heap, bleeding from her ears, almost dead.

"You have to get better El…you just have to. I can't do this without you." She says desperately, clutching her hands, squeezing for some reaction.

"You're supposed to take care of me...remember….you promised."


	19. Chapter 19

Etta makes her way down the stairs, sneakers clutched in one hand, her backpack in another, trailing haphazardly behind her, furtively chewing her bottom lip as she mentally makes a note of all the things that she needs to do this week.

For a four year old, she has a very busy life.

They're having a show and tell at school today. She had asked Grandpa if he would let her take his electrode helmet, the one with all the shiny screws and wires, to show to her class. He'd been very excited about that and had told her he'd come with her to class and demonstrate how it worked by putting it on her head and connecting it to a power source…

Daddy wasn't very happy about that. He gave her a test tube set and told her to talk about that instead and had glared at Grandpa for some reason.

He'll be happy to see her in the evening and know that she finished all those math problems he gave her to do. He's always giving her stuff to do like that, stuff that's so much harder than anything they do in school, asking her to read books that have so many words that she's never seen, but she likes it. She loves hanging out with Grandpa, loves it when he teaches her all kinds of things- science and math and history.

He always talks to her like she's a grownup and she loves that.

It's Thursday…she remembers… which means she has her riding lesson at the equestrian centre which is always fun because she'll get to see Abacus her horse, Nina's birthday present to her.

Maybe mommy will come with her, she thinks happily. Sometimes, they ride together just the two of them and it's always fun to go up the trails with her and feel the wind in her face. Daddy will join them few days… but he's not as good as mommy with horses.

He always looks a little scared…she thinks.

She needs to help him with the tree house this weekend, Etta reminds herself. They've been using her tinker toys to come up with ideas and she enjoys working with him so much. Tommy Wilson had laughed at her and said that girls can't do stuff like build tree houses when she had told him.

Daddy had told her that Tommy Wilson was an idiot (Mommy had given him one of her angry looks for calling him that) who wouldn't know how to build a popsicle stick house and that she can do absolutely anything she wants…

And she'll believe daddy any day over Tommy Wilson…

"You're doing such a great job on this already; I am promoting you from daddy's little helper to primary contractor on the Bishop tree house, already touted to be the best tree house in all of Cambridge. " He had said grandly, making her giggle. He even bought her a plastic helmet and tool belt.

Maybe they could all go to New York and watch the Lion King again on Saturday. Etta loves…loves that show and that stage is so big, she wants to run around on it someday, screaming at the top of her voice. She makes her dad play the theme song for her on the piano every night before going to bed.

She can't wait to learn to play it herself.

She doesn't know if her parents will take her a fourth time in three months though. She can usually get them to do anything she wants…well she can do that with daddy anyway. But this might be difficult.

She works on her best pout, the one she knows daddy never says no to and prepares to make her entrance when she stops, hearing the sound of their voices.

"How many times can I make it clear to you that I am not interested in having this conversation Liv? It's not going to happen so just drop it…"

"No I will not drop it. Ignoring the problem doesn't make it go away Peter. I know pretense is your favorite way of dealing with just about everything, but it's not going to work this time. Will you please act like an adult for once?"

"Yeah… because breaking up our family and uprooting everything we've spent so long trying to build is such an adult prospect. Have you stopped to listen to your own voice and realize just how ridiculous you sound?"

"What I am suggesting is that we try and keep her away from danger. That we do everything we can to make sure something doesn't happen to her. It's really heartening that you find the idea so ridiculous."

"She is not in any danger. Do you see any men with guns barging into our living room, because I don't? We don't even know anything yet and you're overreaching on speculative information that we have no way of verifying. If there is any truth to this nonsense… then we'll find a way. But until then I am not even going to consider your insane plan."

"Peter thinks are getting worse every day. You just don't want to see them. If we're too late…and if something happens…"

"Dammit Olivia….stop… just stop. Nothing is going to happen, do you hear me. I will not let anything happen to her."

"Can you guarantee that? Can you promise me that the dangers that keep following us won't make their way to her because… you know you can't. I can't either and that's why we have to do this…"

"Liv please… I can't do this with you right now. You're not thinking straight. You're letting your emotions get the best of you.'

"No…. I am letting my emotions run the show. Because I am scared Peter and I am worried sick and you should be too…"

Etta sighs heavily trying to drown out her mother's voice, her good mood evaporating by the second. She doesn't like it when her parents get like this. They've been fighting so much in the last few days.

And they never fight… ever. Her parents love each other every much. She's sure about this as much as she's sure about everything else. She doesn't understand much about adult love but she knows they share something very special.

But this is beginning to scare her.

"Hey we don't yell in this house remember?" She says jumping down the last two stairs and announcing her presence to her parents who freeze when they look at her, exchanging weird looks with another.

"We weren't yelling honey. We were just…. talking a little too loudly." Mommy says giving her a smile that Etta doesn't believe as she takes her backpack from her and moves away to the kitchen counter to pack her lunch without looking at her father who's avoiding looking at her too.

"Want me to help you with that?" Daddy asks her instead motioning for her to sit down on the steps, as he takes her sneakers from her and kneels down in front of her, smiling at the tight and mangled knots in her laces.

"I've been trying but I couldn't make the knot." She tells him a little shamefully; as he deftly frees the laces and slips the shoes onto her legs, one at a time.

"That's okay sweetheart, you'll get the hang of it." He tells her, tying her shoelaces on for her and nudges her nose with his finger. "Did you pack the test tube set for your class?" He asks her and she nods "You've to be careful not to break anything. That's federal property you know." He throws a sideways grin at her mom who doesn't smile back.

"You better run…" She tells him instead handing him the backpack. "You'll be late for school." She does smile at Etta though, hugging her briefly and dropping a quick kiss on her head.

"Have a great day baby….I love you." She tells her brushing the hair out of her face.

For a second Etta feels an extraordinary sadness pass through her when she looks into her mother's eyes.

It's gone the next minute.

* * *

"What's the matter munchkin? You're awfully quiet?" Peter steals a look at Etta in the rearview mirror after they drive in silence for some time.

He's not feeling terribly talkative himself. He hates it when he fights with Olivia, he's always hated it…even before they were together and he absolutely hates what they have been fighting about for the last couple of weeks.

But his own mood hasn't made him impervious to his daughter's uncharacteristic silence.

"Nothing…" She tells him her voice low, her legs idly kicking against the seat.

"Really… nothing?" He says giving her a knowing smile. "Then how come you're doing that thing with your lip…come on now… you tell me everything."

She nods and looks at him like she's having difficulty with the words. "If I ask you something, promise you won't be mad at me?"

"Be mad at you?" He says incredulously, shaking his head. "I could never even come within ten stops of being mad at you." She doesn't seem convinced, so he gives her a comforting smile and assures her. "I won't be mad…promise."

"Daddy are you and Mommy going to get a divorce?" She asks him with a concerned look.

Peter's feet comes down on the brake pedal so hard when he hears that… it's a small mercy they're at a signal.

"What?" He says in a voice so shocked that she immediately looks alarmed. "Etta…what…" he flounders for a second, trying to keep calm as the green light flashes and he turns to pull into the school's parking lot.

"Why would you ask me that sweetheart?" he finally says evenly.

"Because you're fighting all the time." She tells him and Peter inwardly curses at having been so careless about letting the tensions between him and Olivia come to her notice.

" Tommy Wilson said that if you're parents fight all the time… that means they're going to get a divorce and then your daddy goes away to live with another family." Etta's telling him as he parks the car.

"Why are you friends with this kid again?" He says shaking his head, as he gets out of the car to open the door for her.

"Are you going to leave mommy and me?" She asks in a scared little voice, disregarding his comment, as he unbuckles her seatbelt for her.

"Of course not." Peter tells her, as he lifts her out and sets her on the ground. He kneels on the ground coming up to her eyelevel, putting a hand to her cheek. "Etta I am not leaving you…and your mom and I are not getting a divorce."

"But Tommy said…"

"Haven't we already established he's an idiot…?" He rolls his eyes, making her giggle despite everything. "Seriously, stop listening to anything he tells you." He tells her somberly.

"But you're fighting…" She points out.

"Well… that's what grownups do sometimes sweetheart." He tells her not wanting to lie. She was way too perceptive to fall for any bullshit either way. "Your mom and I are having a disagreement right now so we try and talk about that… sometimes that becomes a fight. It doesn't mean we don't love each other anymore and it certainly doesn't mean we'll get a divorce."

"You sure?" She asks looking at him hopefully.

"Oh….I am very sure. I like your mom a little too much to live without her you know… She makes great pancakes." He winks at her and she can't help smiling. "Now come here." He says pulling her into a tight hug, as he picks her up.

"I love you daddy." She tells him, buried against his chest.

"I love you too sweetheart." He closes his eyes, trying not to completely lose it in front of his four year old. "I love you so much." He repeats, running his hand through her hair. "Now come on. If you're late, your mom will kill me."

_We don't need another thing to argue about._ He thinks to himself.

He drops her off at the lobby and walks back to the car, feeling more emotionally wrung than he has in several years.

It's funny to think that four years ago... such upheavals were so commonplace in his life.

He gets into the car but doesn't drive, staring at the steering wheel instead, gripping it with frustration.

The craziness of their jobs and the fine print that comes with it remains unchanged, but other than that their lives have become so shockingly free of drama in the last few years that its almost too easy to forget that he was from another universe, that he didn't exist in this timeline till five years ago, that Olivia was shot dead by his own father and brought back to life when she had been pregnant with his child.

That twice they saved more than one world from being destroyed.

That was their life once… it still is. But it's also PTA meetings and school pickups and drops and homework and riding lessons and…

Peter chuckles to himself as he runs through the list, wondering when he became one of those people whose lives revolve around their children and little else.

Well screw that… he decides on second thought. His life does revolve around Etta… and Olivia and Walter too. He's had enough excitement to last a lifetime. Done more and seen more than ninety nine percent of the planet.

He's backpacked through Europe and travelled between universes…. So there.

All he wants now is some peace…peace to enjoy the life he's worked so hard for. Keep the family that he's created with the woman he loves; maybe convince her into making an addition to it, work with his father and his wife to help solve the matters of the strange and the bizarre and go home to tuck his daughter in at night.

It's not much to ask. Almost everybody else in the world seems to be able to get to do it.

And this world owes him…owes him big time.

He helped save it from the brink of destruction only a couple of times right and it's not like he does it every damn day of his life, making sure that everybody else can go on living their normal lives.

Wait…. Expect he does. And this is the thanks he gets for it…

There is much that Peter doesn't put much stock in…. happiness for example. The kind that makes your teeth hurt with its expectations of being and wanting… He doesn't quite know how the rest of the world manages to live up to it.

He's certainly never invested in it.

Because for him happiness is not about simply having… it's about fighting, fighting for everything you have and want every day of your life, holding onto the people who mean something to you at any cost, not letting them go.

And in that constant battle, the victories that come by are so few and far in between, that you make them count. You don't take them for granted.

And Olivia of all people….. who knows him better than anyone else and understands just how difficult it was for them to get here wants to throw all that away.

He knows things are bad. He knows deep down the dangers are real even though he keeps dismissing them. He knows that when something scares Olivia…

It's time to sit up and take notice.

But he can't… no…he won't give his daughter up. He wasn't ready to do it years ago when she was still the size of a peanut and he certainly wasn't going to do it now.

He doesn't care what happens…. What it takes. He'll keep his family together.

* * *

"These were taken outside her school." Broyles says pointing to the pictures on his desk two weeks later, when he calls him into his office for a private meeting.

"You were spying on my daughter?" Peter asks trying hard to keep the anger in control, without even glancing at the photos.

"Given everything that's been going on… I thought it prudent to have her put under surveillance."

"Really… you thought it prudent?" He says darkly. "My daughter is not a fringe event that you can just have her followed and watched over by your minions Broyles. You had no right to do this without telling me."

"I didn't because I know what your reaction would have been. And you're missing the point. I really think you need to look at those photos."

Observers… in each one of them, Peter notices his heart almost stopping for a second. Hands shaking as he shuffles through the photographs, trying hard not to find a blurry image of a bald man in a suit and fedora in the background as he glances through picture after picture of Etta outside her school, in the playground.

His stomach knots up so tightly that he can't even breathe.

"What could they possibly want from her? She's just a child." He says a little too desperately, not caring about how he sounds.

Pride matters so little right now.

"We don't know yet. But if we were to make an educated guess, I believe they might be watching her for her… abilities."

"Abilities…" Peter repeats weakly.

Is there any part of his life William Bell hadn't touched and tainted with his need to be God, he wonders.

"Your father told me about some of the things she's already capable of doing and he hypothesizes that because the Cortexiphan is so intertwined with her biological makeup that her powers are only going to get stronger."

"Walter's hypothesis is exactly that… a hypothesis. It doesn't mean it'll pan out." He says trying to listen past the sound of blood rushing into his ears.

"Are you willing to wait and find out?" Broyles asks him without judgment or insinuation.

"What are you getting at?"

"That it might help if we had a course of action in mind."

"First off… there is no we as far as the two of us are concerned." Peter tells him not caring if he was being rude. "Whatever decision is made, it'll be Olivia and I who make it. This is personal. It has nothing to do with Fringe division."

"That's not true. If Etta's manifesting powers, abilities that make her valuable to the wrong kind of people, we need to make sure that we prevent any untoward happenings."

"So that's what you're worried about?" He asks cuttingly. "And hear I thought all this concern was out of the goodness of your heart."

"I am concerned about your daughter's well-being and safety Peter." Broyles tells him his expression unchanging. "And if all these years of working together haven't led you to believe that than there's nothing I can do to change your opinion. But this is more important than our feelings. I am worried that Etta may be in significant danger, if not for her abilities than for the fact that somebody could use her to get to the two of you and to us and I would really like to avoid a situation in which a child is used as a bargaining chip."

"I am not going to let that happen." Peter says pointblank. "If she's in danger because of us, because of me and Olivia, then we'll leave. We can disappear into thin air. I've done it before, I'll do it again. But I won't let her be harmed at any cost."

"That's exactly what I am concerned about. Thirty years ago, Dr. Bishop opened a door to another universe because he was desperate to save his son… and we haven't even fully finished dealing with the consequences of that. I have to know that I can trust you not to do something as drastic." Broyles tells him.

"You have children don't you Philip? Ask yourself the same question and then let me know whether you can trust me." Peter tells him without batting an eyelid not about to guilt tripped into anything. "Tell me that you won't do everything and anything in your power for their sake, no matter what the consequences, and then I'll do the same."

"Peter, I think we both know the love for our children can drive us to impossible limits. But there are lines we cannot cross. Lines we must not cross. " Broyles tells him. " I am only asking that you let me help you before you're pushed into a corner and forced to do something you'll regret."

"What do you have in mind?" He asks sighing in defeat.

* * *

"Liv it's me, mind if I come in?" She hears him say before the bathroom door opens.

She switches the knob off, slightly slides the frosted shower door to peek at him, offering him a small smile as he stands, leaning against the doorway. "Can't be fun on your mind if you're asking for permission." She says.

He smirks in a sad, desperate sort of way. "Well I am always up for combining business with pleasure." She shakes her head at the obviousness of her husband at times, turning the water back on to warm her up. She can hear the rustle of his clothes dropping to the floor and the screen sliding all the way, before he steps in behind her.

She doesn't turn towards him, finding some odd amazement in the sight of the tiles in front of her instead. But she does lean in when he pulls her into his embrace, his arms finding their way across her waist, pressing her back to his chest. She shudders at the contact, having missed the feel of his bare skin against hers for some time now.

He's always warm to touch which is perfect because she always feels the cold more than others.

For a few moments he doesn't say anything and she doesn't ask him what he came in for. They simply stand almost frozen in time, reveling in the tactility of each other, letting the water run in rivulets in-between their bodies.

Slowly, almost hesitantly, he pushes her wet hair to the side, to kiss the back of her neck. He brings his head to nestle on her shoulder.

"Sorry, I've been so awful to you these past weeks." He whispers against her ear.

She shakes her head. "You don't need to apologize…."

"No I do. After everything you've given me…you don't deserve to be treated like that."

"I didn't give you anything you haven't given me back in full or more." She says, looking down to where their hands were intertwined against her flat stomach, where their child had once lived inside her, safe and sheltered from the dangers of this cruel world. She takes the hand resting on her stomach to bring it to her lips, before laying it against her cheek.

"I spoke to Broyles today…"

She nods, not needing to know what they talked about, or why she can feel the brokenness of him slicing through every part of her soul even before he said a single word.

"I told him to talk to you… I knew you'd listen and think about it if it came from someone else. You're so hyper- rational…you've always needed an objective perspective to see things clearly."

She can feel him smile faintly against her cheek. "How is it that you know me so well and I am still surprised by you after all these years?"

"I've been known to be a woman of untold mysteries." She jokes back, trying hard to not confront the inevitable truth of what they were dealing with.

"If we…." He falters, swallowing hard. "If we do this…. I need you to promise me something." He uses his arms to turn her around to be able to look at her and Olivia thinks she'll simply die from the anguish in his eyes.

Except some part of her is already dead since the day she had to face the decision they would have to make.

"Liv…you..." He brings both hands to rest on her face. "Promise me, no matter what happens… no matter how bad things get I won't have to give you up too."

"Peter…"

"I'll live through anything as so long as we stick together Liv. Just as long as I don't lose you… I need to know that won't happen." He says pulling her closer, leaving the spaces between them impossibly small

She would cry except the tears won't come, so she nods, bringing his forehead to rest against hers. "If you'll promise me the same thing." She whispers against his lips.

"Good." He says nodding firmly.

They don't say much after that.

* * *

When Etta comes down for breakfast the next morning, she catches her parents kissing.

"You're not fighting anymore." She says happily, scampering into the kitchen.

Everything was normal in her life again.

"No we're not fighting anymore sweetheart." Peter tells her, unable to stop the smile pulling at his lips, as he puts his arms around Olivia.

"She was worried we were getting a divorce." He tells her shaking his head and Olivia bursts into laughter at the thought.

"Never going to happen." She tells her daughter, as she takes a seat next to her on the table. "Your dad can't live without me."

"That's what I told her." Peter points out, as he ruffles her hair, pouring her cereal for her.

"You're both weird." Etta tells them in a serious tone shaking her head.

Her parents were so strange sometimes

"You think so huh?" Olivia asks teasingly. "You're the one who's weird, you know that." She pokes at Etta's tummy making her giggle. "What do you think Peter?"

"Definitely weird." He nods conspiringly giving her a grin. "And we know weird… trust me. In fact I think you're the weirdest kid in the whole world. " He throws his hand up in exaggeration.

"Daddy…." She drawls, her eyes alight with amusement. "I am not weird." She shakes her head.

"I am special." She states with an air of self-importance, digging into her cereal, her mind moving onto other things.

She doesn't notice that her parents aren't smiling anymore.


	20. Chapter 20

There are so many ways she has imagined this day would take place in the last twenty years.

It's all she has done.

And yet when it actually happens, Etta doesn't know what she's supposed to do.

Her father is in touching distance of her, and she can't muster the courage to go to him. Doesn't know how she's supposed to tell him who she is.

She's instead staring out of a train window, looking at the ruins of a once magnificent skyline she's seen every day of her life, and not daring to turn around and take in the sight of the man she has waited twenty years to see, sitting in the back lost in his own thoughts.

Etta would bet anything he's thinking about her mother...

She had always been the centre of his constellation. Back then… and some things don't really change.

The taste of liquorish and her father apparently.

It's hard to believe she couldn't picture his face today morning, because she had known him the moment she saw him.

The first thing Etta recognizes are his eyes, the ones that have stared back at her from the mirror all her life.

The ones that used to look at her with so much love.

And then she sees him, sees his vision coming into focus, runs to him to give him a shot to help him breathe.

Clutches at his wrist registering the feel of his hand against hers even in that frenzy…while her grandfather calls his name.

Too much is happening; the amber has already solidified around Simon.

His face is skewing in recognition as he looks at his father and Astrid. He's calling out her grandfather's name asking what happened.

He's standing up and they're on the move.

He doesn't even look at her.

Realistically Etta knows that a situation like that couldn't yield itself to any moment of reunion.

This world has taught her to survive first. Everything else can wait.

Avoiding being captured and wiped to death is a little more important than her living out her fantasies of meeting her parents again. And so she pushes aside that mass of feelings bubbling inside her and leads them out of the building.

Only when she's driving them to the station does she dare to look into the rearview mirror to see the back of that old beat-up van where the three of them are crouched.

"How are you feeling son?" Walter's asking him, as her father clutches his temple, grimacing in discomfort.

"Like I'd gone drinking all night in Ireland." He says his throat still raspy.

But Etta can hear the sound of his voice, the one that always signaled safety and reassurance to her when she was little.

"Where are we Walter? How long has it been?" He's asking now and Walter's filling him in and he still doesn't notice her, befuddled as he is with everything that's going on.

Walter doesn't mention her. She doesn't speak up.

She's not even sure she can find her voice.

Now the danger's past them and yet Etta can't bring herself to go to him. To tell him and ask him everything she's been dreaming of for so long.

He looks exactly like the man she had said goodbye to two decades ago.

Every little detail remains unchanged… his button up shirt belted into his dark blue vintage jeans, his favorite pair, the one she had wiped her chocolate covered hands on once much to his dismay… his stubble which would always tickle her chin when he would kiss her, the mildly scruffy hair which she would yank at when he lifted her up and settled her on his shoulders.

Etta knows she can't hold it against him but….

Her mother would have recognized her without needing to be told.

What she had with her mother was so intense and unspoken. They had never needed words all that much… not when they felt each other so strongly, connected as they were in a bond that wholly unique and theirs.

Like two parts of the same soul.

Her dad on the other hand…. Etta doesn't remember much, but she knows he had been a devoted father to her, had been her best friend and confidant, the one she went to with all her problems and questions. The one she told everything asked everything to… chewing his ear off with the minute and exhaustive details of her toddler life while he listened with saintly patience and complete interest as if every playground fight she narrated to him with gusto was the most fascinating story he had ever heard.

And he had always talked to her too. About things that were important to him, about his day and his life, about his past and the things he had done and seen.

Words were their way of saying I love you to each other.

And yet she can't find a single one from her extensive vocabulary right now… they fail her in expressing what she wants, what she needs from him.

She needs for him to recognize her…. and she doesn't want to use words to be able to have that.

She wants so badly to turn around and run up to him and fling her arms around him carelessly like she would do every single time she saw him after her parents came back from one of their out of town cases.

But she can't because she realizes that her father hasn't changed, but she has.

She's not four anymore… she's a grown woman. And no one ever taught her how you were supposed to talk to your father about being his daughter.

About what you once meant to each other, about how much you've missed him every second of everyday for all your life.

About all those moments in your life you had needed him and had to do without him.

_Na ine kalitero anthropo apo ton patera tou… always take care of the people you love Etta…never take them for granted. _

_ What if the people you loved didn't even know you daddy? Couldn't see you for who you were What were you supposed to do then? _ She thinks

So she continues to look away into the night, trying not to feel disappointed about the way things have turned out.

Trying not to feel disappointed in herself for not having enough courage, for not being sure about herself.

Maybe this was all there was to it. Maybe parental love was just something she had hyped up in her head to be something it wasn't.

Maybe when she did find the nerve to tell him… he would react with pleasant surprise and not much else.

After all, being a little girl's daddy was nowhere the same as finding out you were a father to a twenty four year old woman.

Maybe he'll pat her on the back, wish her luck with her life and then leave to find his wife and save the world with her.

Like three points of a triangle….her parents and her. Except you only need two points on an axis to make a line, to make the most basic of connections.

The third point is always dispensable…

Maybe she doesn't need to tell him anything at all. Maybe he never needs to know. Spare him the complications...

Her parents could have the life they were meant to have together, even if it was without her.

She hears the sound of his footsteps behind her, knowing it's him without even looking.

"I'm sorry about your friend. We'll do everything we can to get him back. I promise." He says to her as she turns around.

Her father's first words to her in twenty years.

An apology and a promise… not the ones she had been expecting to hear.

She nods at him and gives him a small smile, still not trusting herself to speak. He's looking at her a little more keenly now, almost to the point of staring. Their eyes meet and she's unable to look away.

Hope flutters in her…the intensity of his gaze, the glimmer of familiarity she sees in those eyes that are so identical to hers, emboldening her, making her push past all the insecurity that she's been grappling with.

She has wanted this too badly for too long to walk away without at least trying.

"Do you...Know me?"

She hates the way she sounds, hates the ridiculous nature of her own question. _Try freaking him out just a little more, would you Bishop?_ The snarky part of her brain tells her.

He looks predictably confused but covers it up quickly and gives her a kind smile, making places in her heart warm in a way that she's forgotten his smile was capable of doing to said heart.

He's shaking his head... "I don't know how I could…" He's telling her sincerely, almost gently and her eyes are tearing up so fast with the disappointment seeping through her, that she doesn't even realize she's on the verge of crying.

"I've been stuck in that Amber for over twenty years…" He says "…You barely look old enough….."

He pauses as if he were just then realizing the significance of his own words…and is now staring at her with more than a glimmer of familiarity.

Looking at her with bafflement and a joyous wonder, and acute hesitation…

His hand moves close to her cheek, but he doesn't touch her just yet.

"Henrietta?" He takes her full name.

Nobody has called her that in so long that she's almost forgotten that it is her name. He's rarely ever used it himself and yet….

It's his way of letting her know that he knows

That tight void in her heart, the one that she never remembers having existed without….its closing up so fast that she doesn't think she'll be able to breathe.

It's also making her all too acutely aware of the fact that…._twenty years_

She manages to nod and smile through the surge of pain though, trying so hard to keep the tears at bay when he runs his thumb lightly over her cheek with so much reverence and delicacy, like she'll break if his touch is anything other than that.

Etta thinks she just might.

"Hi, Dad…" She says to him…not knowing what else she could say really.

She's hoping so desperately that he's not disappointed with what he sees, with the woman who stands in front of him in place of the little girl he'd given up so many years ago.

He doesn't even know anything about her yet, but she wants him to be proud of her.

She remembers when school ended and Nina's chauffeur would come to pick her up every day in that fancy black Mercedes. The way she would always look around just for a second before she got into to the car, seeing parents pick up their children, hugging them and asking about their day.

Wishing someone would come just this once to collect her too…

He's pulling her into an embrace and despite everything she launches at him with the same reckless abandon that she used to display as a child, burying her face into the strength of his chest, inhaling the comfort of his familiar scent, where no force on earth could touch her, no hurt could get to her, giving into the tears that have been waiting to be shed for so many years.

And he's holding her just as tightly, his hand finding its way to her hair, clutching her like she'll be pulled away from him if he doesn't hold on to her with all his strength.

For once there was no need for words between them… Etta realizes as she dissolves into nothingness in his reassuring arms.

Like she's freefalling except she's not scared because he's here now to catch her.

For once someone had come to collect her too.


	21. Chapter 21

Olivia has never known love without knowing loss…

A veritable if-then formula that ever was ….

If she loves somebody, then she will lose them too… to death, to fate, to calamitous events always beyond her control.

Her father, her mother, John, Peter…

Him she has lost more than once even if somehow he finds her way back to her, the one anomaly to the patterns of loss and devastation that rule her life by their oppressive order and method.

Which is why she doesn't know how to love her daughter without fearing that she will lose her someday.

Since the day she's been aware of her baby's existence…that fear has lived inside her never to be eliminated from her consciousness ever.

It's the reason why she struggles with the knowledge when Peter is asking her about what the doctor said. Why she hesitates to tell him…

His blinding happiness at receiving the news abates her trepidation but it can never completely make it go away.

For some time she thinks it'll be easier to give her child up, before she is wrenched away from her by something unforeseen.

But the fear is a mere by product of the intense love that bursts through her veins when she comes to know about her pregnancy.

And that love which is so much larger than the fear, makes her greedy, greedy to know her child, to hold her and have her and experience her and make memories with her.

Peter has taught her many things… the function of the Planck constant in quantum mechanics, how to read sheet music, how to curse in seven different languages…

He's taught her how to laugh till her insides hurt

But above all he's taught her that's it okay to want… And she wants; she wants this child so much. More than anything she's ever wanted.

When she holds her baby girl in her arms for the first time, its that want that wins out.

She's completely unprepared for the way she feels towards her daughter, the way her body and mind awaken with an instinctual longing that she never knew she was capable of. She wants to be the best mother she can be to this amazing human being she's brought into the world.

If only this world will let her…

And even though she can never make the time to research home remedies for colds or get into the great debate of regular vs. organic baby wipes, or participate in any of those saccharine rituals of yuppy mommyhood, she is a great mother in every way that matters, that really counts.

Even if she's bone tired and barely able to keep her eyes open after a long grueling day of casework, she'll make sure to ask all about her day and read to her at bedtime. She remembers to force some sort of limit to her all-consuming dedication to her work to devote the time that her child deserves to have from her.

And it helps that she has the most supportive partner on the planet who constantly amazes her with his ability to be so naturally good at fatherhood, so thoroughly engaged and involved in every matter that concerns their child.

Seriously, the man has an enthusiasm for parenting that would put a Park Slope mommy to shame, Olivia thinks.

Together they've always made a formidable team… in the field when there are killers to be caught or at dinnertime when Aristotelian persuasion is called upon to convince Etta to eat her vegetables.

And the strength of that partnership allows her to feel confident in her abilities to raise her daughter to the best of her capacity.

But the fear of loss is always ribbing at her efforts, that little voice of condensation that constantly tells her that everything she has stands on a house of cards that could be left devastated by the slightest of hostile winds.

She can provide for her daughter, keep her protected, nourished, nurtured and happy and she does all that, efficiently and exceptionally like she has done everything else in her life, giving it her everything.

And yet she cannot love her completely… not in the way she wants to, not in the way deep down she knows she does.

She envies Peter this … his love for their daughter is so effortless, so simple in its expressions, so unburdened by anything else other than the innate desire to give and receive in turn.

She really wishes he could teach her how to do that too. It can't be more difficult than quantum mechanics…

It gladdens her heart when she sees the two of them together… like conspirators forever in action in sync to the same tune. Their private kingdom of imagination and creativity, of humor, of the sheer joy and simplicity of living and being…

It's always been wide open to her. She has just never known how to enter it and stay there…

What brings father and daughter together is similarity, what bonds Olivia to her child is their shared difference.

It's the crux of their intense connection… the one that allows her to read her daughter like an open book without asking a single question. The one that allows her to _know_ her pain and happiness like they were her own.

That they were made different… that they were more than human…that more would always be expected from them.

It's ironic how the part of her that she detests so much, the superhuman abilities that have always made her feel inadequate and less than… are also what have given her this incomparable closeness to her child.

The closeness that she's forced to severe at times when her own emotional volatility is in danger of overwhelming her daughter's mind, to spare her the heavy burdens that she carries, the inconsolable guilt and shame she feels every time she fails to save an innocent person's life or a case gets somebody killed.

But she all of people should know something about persistence. No matter how hard she tries to distance herself in order to protect her, her daughter simply refuses to be untethered from her.

She will find her… no matter where she hides physically and metaphorically.

"You're sad." She'll tell her, clambering onto her lap and putting her little hands on her face, looking at her with all too knowing eyes, mirroring her own despair with the injustices of this world, communicating to her an assurance that no child should be responsible for delivering.

_Let me in…I can help you. I can be there for you_

"It's okay mommy. I am here now." She'll curl up against her chest and simply stay there, as if trying to absorb all of Olivia's pain into her tiny little form.

"I am not sad honey." She'll tell her futilely, hugging her back, rocking her slowly as they sit in silence, words being redundant as it were between them.

She doesn't know how, but Olivia always feels her pain go away after a while.

_It's supposed to work the other way around. I am the one who's supposed to be there for you. _ She thinks to herself pulling her daughter closer into her embrace, absently kissing her hair.

Most days, between her family and her job, her life doesn't give her that much time for reflexivity.

And yet… the roots of her anxieties will catch her unaware at times.

_You're an imposter_… the derisive voice will tell her when she looks into the mirror sometimes.

_That happy woman is not you… you were never meant to have any of this_. _Your perfect house and your perfect family… it's all just a fluke. Don't you see that? You don't deserve the love of someone as wonderful as Peter, you don't deserve to have a beautiful, bright and healthy child. _

_In the end you're only going to cause the both of them pain or worse…_

_Bad things happen to the people you love… that's why you were alone for so long, because that's how you will spend the rest of your life…_

_They'll leave you one day… they always do. _

"I know you're very beautiful… but could you stop staring at your own reflection quite so much. Way to be in love with yourself Dunham..." Her husband will chide her playfully, putting his arms around her, still wet from his shower, kissing her neck, smelling like aftershave and cologne and himself.

And she can do little else but fold over into his embrace and hold him tightly, run her hands over his bare chest and reassure herself of the solidness of his being.

That her life wasn't a delusion after all...

"What's wrong?" He'll ask her…

"Nothing." She'll lie.

_Nothing yet… _the voice will add.

* * *

"I don't remember the house being this silent in years…" Peter tells her one night as they sit curled up under a blanket on the porch seat, watching the stars, treating themselves to some rare time of quiet and relaxation after working a particularly long and difficult case.

"That's because the tiny person who makes all the noise is asleep right now." Olivia mumbles, lazily tracing the arm encircling her with her fingertips.

"She's not so tiny anymore is she…?" He remarks.

"Not if the credit card bills are anything to go by… I had to take her shopping last week because she outgrew her jeans again. That's the third pair in five months." Olivia shifts slightly, moving closer into his embrace. "I swear, we're going to go bankrupt this way."

"That's because you're the one who insists on buying all those expensive clothes for her at retail outlets, you could just not do that and get her stuff from Walmart or something you know." Peter points out.

"Get her stuff from Walmart?" She almost snorts. "Do you even know your daughter? She won't even step into a store if it's not all shiny and glossy enough for her. "

"Yeah...and I am the one who apparently can't say no to her." He smirks knowingly.

"You_ can't_ say no to her if your life depended on it." She counters. "Face it…she's had you wrapped around her little finger since she the day she was born and then some."

Knowing the truth of that statement he wisely chooses to remain silent.

"I'll take the growth spurts any day over the diaper changes and the midnight feedings though…. I can't even remember how we managed to survive through all of that and not drop dead from exhaustion. " Olivia muses loudly.

"We've lived through worse… and that would be understating."

"Hmm..."

"You know what would be awesome?" He asks absently, a minute later

"For you to get up and bring the both of us a glass of wine?" She smiles hopefully at him, feeling almost boneless in his embrace.

"I am not getting up for the apocalypse right now." He shakes his head at her, bringing a hand to brush a strand of her hair from her face. "I was thinking how it might be kinda fun to do all that again."

"What?" She asks confused, feeling a strange uneasiness rise inside her when she sees the contemplative yet hopeful expression on his face.

"Maybe we could have another baby..." He tells her, grazing her cheek gently with his fingertips.

Olivia tenses at the statement, hoping her face doesn't give her away. "Why would we want to do that now?" She jokes, trying hard to not let him show what she's actually thinking.

"Well we make the most beautiful babies together for one... " He says softly, kissing her on the lips. " And the process is certainly a lot of fun." His eyes twinkle with suggestion.

" Yeah… and then after that comes nine months of morning sickness, nausea and enough physical pain to make you want to shoot something. You seem to have forgotten all that." She tells his dryly.

"But then we get to bring home something cute and adorable and perfect in every way and everything's great." He tells her unfazed by her negative spin on things.

"You and I seem to remember the events surrounding our daughter's birth very differently." Olivia says yawning, turning her head sideways and burrowing into his chest, as she closes her eyes.

He chuckles, fingers threading into her hair, as he kisses her head. "I never realized till now how much of a bad influence I've been on you."

"Why is that?" She asks feeling the soothing motions of his fingers in her hair, lulling her to sleep.

"You've gotten really good at avoiding giving straight answers." He tells her.

Perceptive as ever, he'd hit upon the truth and before she can muster any defense, he tells her gently. "It's just a thought Liv…It doesn't mean we have to decide anything right now."

"I know…" She mumbles against his chest.

_But you don't._ She thinks to herself. He didn't know the constant doubts she dealt with, the fears that have been eating away at parts of her for so long, to the point of having worn holes in her self.

She remembers that night at the hospital after Etta was born, how she had felt as she had watched her daughter sleep in her arms after she had fed her, just her and her child, enveloped in a bliss that possibly couldn't be real, as she breathed in the scent of her.

How the tears had then come…unexpected and frustrating, pouring down her cheeks in silent torrents, wracking her already sore body in a terror so vicious and mind numbing that she couldn't breathe.

She had seen the glimmer then… that golden candescence that she had seen Peter surrounded by that night after Jacksonville, the one had almost scared her away from their relationship that night in Brooklyn, the aura that had literally made him translucent when she had seen him walk into the machine.

It was fainter…a steady, almost beatific glow and not the vibrant flicker that Peter emanated…but it made her feel the same way it had all those other times she had seen it.

That this happiness didn't belong to her…

That she was too damaged to experience love…

That death was the only fate that awaited anyone who ever got too close to her…

Years of a childhood spent hiding from her stepfather and his violence had taught Olivia to cry in silence, without making a sound. To be loud was to simply invite more beatings.

And so she had wept all night in silence with her child in her arms… trying hard not to feel so scared. Pleading, begging this universe to let her be just this once.

_Please don't take her away from me…please let me not lose her too. _

And to think about going through that again… no matter how often she thought about it in idle moments of daydreaming when images of another little girl with brown hair and the same beautiful blue eyes she loved so much would pop up in her head.

Olivia isn't sure if she would survive it.

"Do you want to go to bed sweetheart?" Peter's asking her as she nestles further into his embrace, moving impossible close to him, her hands fisting into the softness of his sweater.

He was the only person she had ever given herself completely to, the one person whom she could turn to for absolution from the darkness that entraps her no matter how far she runs from it.

Someday she will tell him… tell him about her fears. The ones she knows deep down he already knows all too well.

And she'll let him help her, heal her… teach her to find satisfaction in the present and not worry about the future.

But for now, in that moment, in his embrace…Olivia can simply believe that she has beaten the if-then certainty of her life for once.

Tomorrow can wait.

"Let's just stay here tonight." She tells him, letting sleep overcome her.


	22. Chapter 22

"So you see why it happened that way don't you?' He's asking her, looking up from her hip bone to her face, giving her an obvious look, pushing the lid on the marker with a decisive click.

There are equations covering a portion of her waist, her entire back, the inside of her thighs …. numbers and functions etched by him, a black contrast against her pale skin.

"Sure…" she nods in quite amusement, stretching out in all her nakedness, taking in his work on the canvas of her body as the soft light from their bedside lamp casts shadows on the both of them.

He's explaining to her the details of a case they were working earlier… unraveling the science for her….and he loves using visual aids almost as much as Walter.

Though she likes his aids better…

She doesn't really understand much… truth be told she hadn't been paying all that much attention to anything he was saying… too busy watching his hands write proof of his genius intellect on her skin.

She's been a bad student… but then she can't help it.

She has an irresistibly sexy teacher.

There are many things about Peter that make her go weak in her knees, but what turns her on more than anything is his mind.

Olivia has never suffered fools lightly. And intelligence is something she has always valued, especially in a man she would consider being romantically involved with.

But intelligent doesn't come close to describing Peter. His instantaneous capacity to understand things that baffle most people, the sharpness of his intellect and awareness, the bottomless reservoir of knowledge he carries in his head and rattles off at a moment's notice.

He is her living, breathing Google search engine…. an atypical renaissance man in a world that was too full of idiots and hacks.

She thinks he knows her attraction to his cerebral faculties because he has a strange fondness for getting all professorial with her on late nights like these…

When between glasses of mellow whisky and Coltrane on the record player, they make love at a languid pace and unwind… and he instructs her in more ways than one.

Her body is the palimpsest of his teachings, the site upon which he charts the cartographies of knowledge with his trusty black marker.

A midnight tuition in cosmology, physics and bio-chemistry that he delivers to her shirtless and with a ridiculously serious expression…interspersed with slow, lingering kisses that he leaves everywhere he writes, explaining to her the mysteries of the universe, the living and the inorganic, of phenomena and paradigms of heat, electricity and magnetism, while he makes her body quiver with demonstrations of the same.

It's a radical epistemology…an education the likes of which she's never received.

But even when she's heady from alcohol and lust, she appreciates just how good an educator he really is, because his love for learning is genuine. She sees it in the vivacity of his explanations, the way he tries and makes obscure and complicated theories and concepts interesting and relatable.

He never makes her feel like she's slow for not grasping the complexities of some of the things he talks about. Makes her believe there's really nothing that is outside the scope of her comprehension.

If she'd had such a great teacher in college, she would have taken more interest in the mandatory intro level science class she had sat through being bored out of her mind as her instructor lectured the class in a dull, unimaginative fashion.

Of course if that teacher had been anywhere half as good looking as Peter, she would have probably flunked out of school because she would have been too busy staring into his eyes all the time.

"The girls at MIT must have loved your classes." She says smiling as he sets the marker down on the table, signaling the end of their class time. "Considering your innovative teaching methods."

"Yeah, because you really want to be courting a sexual harassment complaint when you're teaching under a falsified degree." He rolls his eyes at her.

She turns onto her stomach leaning against a pillow, her legs coming up in air as she stretches the muscles of her back and looks at him playfully, with a knowing expression.

"You're saying you never slept with any of your students?"

"Can't say I have." He moves to the head of the bed, to lie down next to her, pushing away a lock of hair from her face.

"Seriously? They must have thrown themselves at you." She says genuinely surprised.

"Nobody threw themself at me." He laughs. "Well a couple of them did….Okay maybe a few." He says smirking. "But the only time I've been interested in chasing after teenagers was when I was one myself. So I told them I was flattered but that it was way inappropriate and send them packing. It's unethical."

"Such a man of ethics." she remarks dryly.

"Hey, I may have faked my way in, but I was very serious about teaching." He tells her smiling. "And students did like me very much… not for the reasons you think though."

"I am sure they did. You're really good at this." She tells him, bringing her hand to his stubble. "If you ever decide to follow on your constant threats to quit the FBI, this is what you should do you know. You'd inspire a lot of young minds."

"To do what?" He asks with mild incredulity. "Run cons and trick people, manipulate them to your own ends, look out for only themselves without a second thought to anybody else? Of all the things I am capable of doing…inspire is not one of one them sweetheart." He smirks at her, as if to mock her suggestion.

"You know I wish you wouldn't do this." She tells him with a quiet sigh.

"Do what?" He asks, picking up his abandoned drink and taking a sip.

"Put yourself down like this. You're not that person anymore and you never were that person deep down Peter…" She trails off not missing the slight tightening of his jawline at her words.

He takes another purposeful sip of his whisky, his face pensive before he looks at her. "Let's not romanticize Olivia." He tells her somberly. "I was a real piece of work and you know that. Denying that is like burying our heads in the sand. The truth is the Peter Bishop you met was the most self-serving son of a bitch on the planet who couldn't bring himself to care about anyone else unless there was a buck to be made out of it."

"Really...I don't recall having met this person you're beating up on." She tells him evenly, unfazed by the self-derision in his voice.

"The day we met, you begged me to help you and I shrugged you off without even a moment's hesitation." He tells her just as plainly. "Do you recall that? The only reason I ever came with you was because you led me to believe my ass was on the line. Not because of anything else…so please don't play the fool Liv. You're smarter than that. "

"Well obviously you're not…" She tells him, moving closer to him. "Because there are some things that I do know about this Peter Bishop that you talk about, more than you'll ever allow yourself to know." She lays a hand against his chest, pressing a kiss against where his heart thumped against her skin reassuringly.

"I've always known your heart and I know it's never been capable of unkindness….not now, not then, not ever." She tells him, looking into his eyes, willing for the cloud of self-doubt that casts a shadow over his clear blue irises to go away. "And I would bet anything… that if I hadn't pulled off that bluff, if I had asked you a second time you would have come with me."

"Olivia…" He tries to speak, but she cuts him off.

"You worried for my safety and wellbeing and looked out for me even after I had tricked and threatened you. You went out of your way to help me find the man responsible for John's condition, to force that confession out of him, even though you didn't have to do that, you did it for me even though we barely knew each other. I haven't forgotten anything Peter. I haven't forgotten that you stayed even though you had the mob breathing down your neck and Walter was getting on your last nerve…"

"I stayed because I couldn't stand the thought of not having the answers to something that happened to me. Not because of any selfless calling that I felt." He tries to tell her.

"But you stayed…" She urges, setting his glass down and taking his hands in hers. "And that's all that matters. Because if you hadn't been there for me that first year..." She almost shudders for a second. "I would have gone off the deep end. You don't even know what you did just by being there. You kept me tethered grounded me, protected me from the madness that we were dealing with every day."

"I didn't do anything…" He shakes his head.

"Yes you did, don't you see that?" She asks him almost urgently, baffled by his obtuseness. She cups his face with her hands, forcing him to look at her. "Just by being you…you did that. It's why I fell in love with you Peter…"

He doesn't say anything for several long seconds, swallowing audibly with the weight of everything she has just told him and looks at her a little too intensely, bringing his hand to her hair before speaking.

"And here I thought you just wanted me for my body…"

She looks at him in shock for the briefest second and then laughs, falling against his chest hopelessly in a fit of amusement. She looks up, trying to seem outraged and smacks him lightly on the head. "I put myself out there and tell you everything you mean to me… and you pull that line on me. Seriously?"

"If you know me as well you claim to, it should come as no surprise right?" He tells her grinning with mischief.

"You're incorrigible." She shakes his head at him, unable to fight the smile that was pulling at her lips because she knew he was right. To have expected any other reaction from him would be to belie the very things that she loved about him so much.

"And you're way too good for me." He tells her a little more earnestly, his eyes reflecting sincerity, an acknowledgement that he did understand the depth of what she was trying to tell him, even if wouldn't confront it this night. "But thank you for seeing me the way you do."

"I only ever saw you for what you really are..." She tells him placing a kiss on his chest. "I just wish you were able to see yourself the same way too."

She straddles him in the next instant without waiting for a response, her expression turning more playful. "Now I don't know about you… but all this self-introspection is a little too much for me after two shots of Jack Daniels and half an hour of seventh level differentials."

"Is it now?" He asks teasingly as he moves his hands to her thighs, his eyes already gratifyingly lighter from before, a dangerous suggestion lingering in them.

She nods. "Yeah, I was thinking that now that school's over…maybe we could play? If that's alright with you professor."

"It's more than alright...I have a few games that I can think of that you would find very enjoyable." He pulls her head down to capture her lips in a kiss.

"Oh… but wait…" She shakes her head, disengaging from his protesting lips. " We can't do this...you never sleep with your students. I can't let you violate your ethics."

"I think we can make an exception just this once..." He says pulling her back close into a searing kiss, indicating to her firmly that the time for teasing was done.

…

"So does this mean I get an A?" She asks with a cheeky grin later, unable to help herself, trying to steady her breath as her body rides out the vestiges of the high they had just experienced.

He certainly wouldn't have missed the opportunity, she thinks.

"Oh honey for that…" Peter laughs. "I'd give you an honorary doctorate."


	23. Chapter 23

There are many times that Walter forgets how it was before Peter came into his life. That he was so alone and so untethered, so afraid and less than complete.

He didn't receive the gift that Olivia did… of memories shared with him, of a life he had been part of.

But his son… _his son_ had worked his way into his heart even without that past, built a relationship with him out of nothing but the desire to be part of his life.

In the lab they work with a perfect asynchrony that he hadn't even had with Belly and he indulges himself in fatherly pride at Peter's remarkable but well-grounded intellect and ingenuity… a perfect counter to his own admitted eccentricities.

In life, Peter leads him to believe that maybe he's not so broken after all, that he is capable of deserving something beyond the torment of his past actions.

Even at times when Walter is so unsure…so very unsure of the place he occupies in the corner of happiness that Olivia and Peter have founded for themselves, it is his son who assures him that he is welcome in that realm always.

Especially after the Bell incident, when Walter is ready to recede from his life, should Peter be unable to forgive him for what he did… he doesn't ask him to.

"You wouldn't have done it if you didn't know you would be able to save her." His son tells him understandingly. "You saved billions of lives Walter….and you saved Olivia and the baby too."

He's overjoyed at the news of Olivia's pregnancy, beyond jubilant at the thought of Peter becoming a father.

He entertains the notion of being a grandfather in private though, unsure of whether he would be allowed this privilege.

But when Olivia shows him that first sonogram, pointing to the fuzzy black and grey image and tells him that is _his _granddaughter… his doubts are more than dissipated.

"It's yours… for when you'll want to stay over." Peter tells him, showing him the room on the first floor when he takes him on a tour of the new house they've bought together.

"It's close to the kitchen, in case you get hungry at night."

And the day the two of them welcome their child into the world, he watches them in awe… looking at the expression on his son's face as he holds his own daughter in his arms, beaming with pride and unencumbered happiness at Olivia, sharing a look that he knows all too well from when 32 years ago, he had been the one smiling at his wife the same way, when he held his newborn son for the first time.

"Do you want to hold her?" Peter offers, without hesitation when he sees him and Walter almost says no, afraid that he will drop the infant because he's shaking so much with anticipation.

Peter's eyes had been green the day he had been born and had stayed that for a few days before acquiring their remarkable shade of blue…. the ones that had looked back at him lifeless and glazed over as they floated away to the bottom of the icy cold lake many winters ago.

The eyes of his boy…. they're looking back at him in the face of a different child, a child that Walter realizes he has already become completely enamored with… after all of ten seconds of holding her.

He loves her beyond reason… just like he loves every version of his son and he would do anything for her, go to any lengths for her.

He recognizes the keenness of her mind before anyone else, recognizes how special and gifted she really is and nurtures her intelligence in every which way he can… the way he would have with Peter, if he hadn't been so sick all that time.

And to be loved by her back… Walter has almost forgotten what it's like to be loved by a child, in that honest and generous way that innocence allows one to do.

She is an amalgamation of all the people who mean so much to him… Peter, Olivia…. Elizabeth, it's almost uncanny sometimes the way she reminds him of his late wife, in the most unexpected of ways.

He wishes sometimes that she could have been here to see how remarkable a man their son turned out despite everything, how perfect a life he had made for himself.

How beautiful and absolutely wonderful their granddaughter was.

Unable to help himself, he'll ask Peter about her sometimes… even though Walter knows it's a sore topic for him to talk about, evidenced by the lightning flashes of quiet anger that pass through his son's eyes when he mentions her name.

Even though he's completely willing to tell him about anything Walter cares to know about from his past life, he's very protective of his memories of his mother, almost always unwilling to share that part of his life.

Walter knows why. Peter might have gotten past all that happened to him because of his actions, but deep down some part of him will never forgive him for putting her through that misery.

Understandable as he's never been able to forgive himself for that either.

In that timeline she had still taken her own life, but she had lived a few more years… in which she had raised Peter single handedly. While he lost his sanity in a mental institution she had poured her heart and soul into making their son the good man he was

He'll have to thank her someday for that when he sees her in heaven… if he ever makes it there that is.


	24. Chapter 24

Lately she find herself thinking about Peter, more than what would be considered appropriate for a coworker, more than she wants to, more than she's supposed to…

It's ridiculous but Olivia can't help herself. It's probably because she spends all that time with the two of them, father and son, each unique and remarkable in their own way.

She doesn't know what it is about Peter Bishop that leads to him occupying so much of her time and mind. In fact there are many things about him that scream to her to exactly not do that.

He's made it all too clear to her on more than one occasion that he doesn't really want to be here, even though he hasn't followed through on his threat to leave like he had vowed to do so vehemently in her office only a couple of months ago, something which Olivia remembers had engineered a wave of panic in her.

He's staying not because he wants to but because he has to, to find the answers he's looking for. But it still doesn't do anything to take away from the immense relief that always stirs in her heart when she arrives at a new crime scene and finds him there, standing next to his father with that exasperated expression of suffering on his face.

She shouldn't feel this way, like she can depend on him, trust him to be there. After all, his volatile and criminal record would suggest quite the opposite.

And she certainly should not feel that odd fluttering in her chest every time he smiles at her or shows concern for her because that's just plain wrong.

_He's not even your type._ Olivia tells herself sternly.

_And you certainly aren't his. He would never be interested in someone like you_. _You're too boring and dull for his taste._ She tells herself a little less sternly, almost dismally.

She notices that he never flirts with her the way he does with most women, suave and playful, a hint of danger that makes them go predictably wide eyed and dreamy.

_Why would he? He's not going to waste his time and charms on you…and you wouldn't know how to respond to something like that if he hit you over the head with it. _

Not that she wants him to, of course…

John's death is a wound that has yet to heal and her heart is still in intensive recovery from everything that has taken place. But she can't help the way she feels when she's around him.

The time he pulls her out of the tank, she clings to him for dear life without even knowing what she's doing, letting his strong arms and words comfort her as he holds her close.

It's a feeling of being safe, something which she has never needed before.

Something she's also never had before.

Something she's increasingly coming to rely upon him for and he seems to give to her without asking. Like when she's frazzled, exhausted and distrustful of her own mind and he's pulling her into his embrace wordlessly, his hands threading through her hair.

She's not someone who likes having her personal space trespassed upon without permission and she really hates it when someone attempts to do it when she's emotionally unsound, like suddenly she's become incapable of monitoring her boundaries just because she's upset.

But that rule doesn't apply to him… in fact she wants him to take this liberty with her. She wants to stay in that all too brief embrace for longer, inhaling the comforting scent of him, feeling her hands on the crispness of his shirt.

She comes to the lab one day to find Walter and Astrid working in their respective corners. She doesn't see him anywhere.

"Where's Peter?" She asks Astrid casually.

"Haven't seen him since morning. Walter came in by himself to work today." She tells her without looking up from her computer.

She feels an irrational wave of panic course through her at those words.

_He's gone…_ she thinks with a sinking feeling. He's simply had enough and left without saying anything.

Without even telling her.

"Agent Dunham… lovely to see you. Peter wanted me to let you know that he had to go to Providence for a friend's wedding. He'll be back tomorrow." Walter's words register in her mind and her tension abates a little bit.

"Right." She nods, almost sighing with relief. But she still only lets herself feel completely assured when she does see Peter the next day, walking up to her with an offering of coffee with his usual smile.

Somehow…the world seems like a less dangerous place than it was yesterday.

"You were gone yesterday." She says without thinking, realizing how rude that sounded.

After all he's not her personal slave to be around always to do her bidding.

"Yeah… personal stuff." He says noncommittally. "I thought I told Walter to let you know. Why did you think I run off on you?" He asks with a knowing smirk.

"Can you blame me?" She covers up with a joke herself, trying not to show that he'd hit upon the truth with stunning accuracy.

"I guess not." He chuckles. "Don't worry Dunham. After all the special, gruesome, bloody and disgusting things we've been through together….I wouldn't leave without saying goodbye."

She smiles at him, feeling a little too much gratitude at his statement than was warranted for, even as she couldn't feel a bit of disappointment that he hadn't exactly negated the possibility of leaving one day.

_You're in trouble Dunham… deep trouble._

* * *

She's feeling a little lost as she walks through the maze of humanity, trying to find a place to sit in the rather crowded bar that has become their familiar haunt for several weeks now.

It's not ideal but practical given the circumstances of their life. Exhausted as they are by the end of most working weeks, by some mutual unspoken agreement, Peter and she don't aim for romantic… for candlelight or fancy restaurants. A bar that's close to the lab with an excellent selection of whiskey, a pleasant song on the jukebox and some truly lip-smacking fries is more than good enough.

Tonight she'd almost considered asking him to simply meet her at her apartment, skip this preamble of socializing and stay in with him.

But the Bell incident has left her a little too raw, a little too unnerved, a little too thankful for many things she's never considered before, like the simple act of sitting down with someone and sharing your day over a drink.

Having your body possessed by a dead scientist tends to make you appreciate the small pleasures of life a little more.

So she takes the time to change into the blue sweater and skinny jeans she had thrown into her car in the morning, frees her hair from its tight ponytail and quickly runs a comb through it, rubs a hint of light gloss on her lips, walking out of the FBI office with more than a few curious glances coming her way.

She manages to catch the eye of the bar tender over the small group of Harvard grad students hovering around him and he nods, wordlessly motioning her to the corner booth, empty and waiting for her.

Even on the busiest of weekends and this bar can get _really _busy, that booth is always available to the two of them.

"Tony has a fondness for Cuban cigars. I hooked him up with a guy." Peter shrugs cryptically when she asks him just how that happens.

She walks up to the table, sweeping the handmade paper sign with 'reserved' scrawled on it with mild amusement and sinks into the worn leather couch with a sigh, letting herself truly relax for the first time in a week.

For once, she's the early one of the two of them and it's good because it gives her time to collect her thoughts.

They haven't made love since the time her consciousness has returned to her and she's hoping that will change tonight.

She meant it when she said she wasn't afraid anymore. But she's also not been quite ready to lose control over her body just yet and in his infinite capacity for patience, he's been more than understanding about that.

She has needed this one week to become used to her own skin again… before she can let him overwhelm it in his skillful ways and make her literally sees stars.

A low heat rises in her body when she thinks about that, the promise of the night causing her to blush.

She's not some awkward teenager and this certainly won't be their first time… far, far from it.

But it's a beautiful anticipation and she's happy to feel that way. Just like she's happy to feel and experience a lot of other things.

This year has been big for her in terms of not taking things like that for granted.

You never know when someone might switch you for your doppelganger and rob you of your life and identity and the man who has come to become so central to both those things.

She has been grappling with something else… something that she hasn't said to anyone since John.

She wants to tell Peter that she loves him. Three simple words that are causing her a lot of anxiety.

On some level….Olivia knows he already knows that, just like she knows that he loves her too. It's about as obvious as a slap to the face. Because really no one jumps through universes or enters someone's mind to retrieve their consciousness because they simply have casual feelings for them.

But it's also unsaid… and after everything she thinks it's time she was more vocal about her feelings for him, about what he meant to her.

He has a right to know.

She's so lost in her thoughts, that she misses the fact that he's here standing next to her.

"Hy Liv, sorry I am a little late." He says, dropping a swift kiss to her head as he settles in next to her, divesting himself of his coat which he flings with abandon on the seat. "Walter was being Walter and there was a mini incident at the lab and I had to do some explaining to campus security before I could get away."

_Liv_… it's the first time he's ever called her that, she realizes feeling her heart warm at his use of the moniker.

She loves the way he says her name almost always dropping the 'O' or the way he'll use her last name, always with a hint of suggestion when he has a particularly witty remark that he wants to make.

But this...calling her by the nickname that only the people closest to her have been allowed to address her by…She's going to spend the rest of her life being called Liv by him… she thinks happily.

"You there Olivia?" He's asking her, obviously awaiting a response and she breaks away from her thoughts to give him a smile.

"Umm yeah… sorry. What happened at the lab?" She asks hoping she didn't look quite as sappy as she felt inside right now.

"Don't worry about it. It's all sorted out now." He tells her shaking his head dismissively, smiling politely at the waitress who's now setting their drinks on the table, a standing order that Tony always has ready for them.

"It's just, the guards heard all these loud bangs coming from the basement so they came barging in looking for an explanation. You can imagine how much fun that was." He rolls his eyes at her, picking up his glass to take a sip.

"What did you tell them?" She asks curiously, taking a sip of her own drink.

"Well I pulled the whole its top-secret classified card on them, and then when that pissed them off a little more, I told them that they could take it up with my girlfriend who worked for the FBI." He says smugly.

"I am your girlfriend now?" She asks surprised by the way he says it so easily.

"Well yeah… you are, aren't you?" He says casually like it's a no brainer and then looks at her a little more hesitantly when he sees the surprise there. "I am sorry Olivia... I didn't mean to presume…"

"No, it's not that." She cuts him off. "I am just… we just never discussed it, that's all."

"Yeah… guess we didn't huh?" He stares at his drink contemplatively. "Though in our defense we were too busy trying to stage an exorcism to drive my father's best friend out of your body to have a 'where do you think this relationship is going talk.' " He shrugs. "But you know we don't have really need any labels if you'd prefer that."

"No we do." She tells him forcefully, slipping her hand into his. She's determined to not let their relationship be some unformulated entity anymore. For the way they feel about each other, they deserve a hell lot more than that.

"It's just… I haven't really been anybody's girlfriend in very long and I guess I've forgotten what that feels like." She tells him honestly because it's the truth. Her clandestine relationship with John had never really allowed them to use terms like that with each other.

But this…. being Peter's girlfriend, being thought off like that by him… its incomparably sweet and so ordinary and yet so simply perfect, she thinks. "But I am very happy to be yours." She tells him.

He grins at that pulling her closer for a kiss… letting go very quickly as he has done this whole week, trying not to push her limits. But she holds on and leans into his lips, deepening the kiss, letting him know that it's okay.

That she's ready to give herself to him completely.

"We might give these college kids a run for their money if we keep making out like this in public you know." He tells her slightly breathless when she finally releases him from her rather possessive hold.

"I can't help it." She grins at him much too happily to care. "I happen to have the most kissable boyfriend in all of Boston and I really like making out with him. In fact, I am looking forward to doing much more than that tonight."

_Boyfriend… her boyfriend_ she thinks, testing it out in her mind and more than liking the sound of it.

"Good God woman. Did someone change your wiring up there? " He jokes, looking slightly startled.

"Don't look so shocked. I am just happy." She shrugs, picking up her drink. "Tends to happen to people when they're in love."

They exchange a look at that… and Olivia feels the anxiety rise in her when she realizes what she's just said, albeit indirectly.

"Peter…" She begins, bracing herself.

_It's just three simple words… he already knows how you feel. It's not exactly been a secret for over a year now. Just tell him._

"Yeah…" His voice is low, almost husky.

"We should get our dinner to go." She tells him then instead looking immediately contrite, knowing he's aware too… that that wasn't what she set out to say.

"Sure." He smiles comfortingly. "Whenever you're ready." He says much too gently for it to be a statement about a dinner order.

She'll be ready someday… hopefully soon. But she's not worried about it as she pushes the thought away and allows herself to unwind while he launches into some story about what Walter was doing earlier.

They have the rest of their lives for things like that.

* * *

Olivia stirs in her sleep without knowing why...

By all accounts her body should be nearly comatose, exhausted as it was from hours of relentless and consuming activity.

But for once the soreness of her muscles and limbs is a good sign, almost gratifyingly telltale of having spent the better portion of last evening and the night in the arms of someone she loved and who loved her back.

Someone whose presence she distinctly misses next to her at the moment.

_No…no…no… _ She jolts awake now, fumbling for a sheet that she wraps around herself as she makes her way to the bathroom, switching on the light to encounter empty and uninhibited space. Stupidly, even though she can't hear the water running, she pushes the shower curtain hopefully to see nothing but the whiteness of her tub.

_He's gone… it was all just a dream._ She thinks, her mind awash with panic as she looks around helplessly in the dark room.

It takes her a couple of second to focus on the sounds coming from her kitchen, of drawers being slid and cabinets being opened softly.

Trying to hold herself together, she opens the door of her bedroom slightly, enough to make out a familiar silhouette in the faint yellow glow of the single lamp that's on, standing against her kitchen counter.

_It's okay…_ she tells herself leaning weakly against the door frame.

She lets the sheet slide to the floor and picks up a shirt that's scattered close by, not realizing it's not hers till she pulls it around her frame and fastens a couple of the buttons on.

She inhales the scent of him intermingled with the cotton, reassuring herself that she hadn't imagined last night after all and walks into the kitchen where he's standing in his jeans and little else in front of her open refrigerator, frowning unhappily at the appliance in question.

"Looking for something?" She asks casually from behind him.

He turns to look at her in surprise. "What are you doing up at this hour?"

"I could ask you the same question." She points out; glancing sideways at her kitchen clock that tells her it is 3:36 in the morning.

"Believe it or not, I am starving… and you don't seem to have anything edible in your home whatsoever." He glances one last time at the fridge, before shutting it with resignation.

"Sorry…it's just that I don't really…"

"Eat?" He asks with a mocking grin. "Remind me tomorrow to take you to this wonderful and revolutionary place we call the store. It's where people go to spend the weekly wages they work so hard for on a bunch of life sustaining things that mankind collectively refers to as food. It's been around for a few millennia now. "

She shakes her head, trying to hide her amusement, as she opens the pantry door to fish out a box of unopened Cheerios that she knows she'd seen in there a couple of days ago. "You know… I can't say I've missed your sense of humor. Not in the slightest." She remarks handing the box to him.

"I can't say there's anything about you that I haven't missed…. including your tendency to never have any actual food in the house." He says casually not realizing the impact his words are having on her at the moment. He opens a cabinet door to scoop out a couple of bowls which he sets on the table along with the cereal box before grabbing two spoons from the drawer in which she keeps her silver ware.

"It's a small mercy that you actually have milk." He comments, grabbing the carton from the fridge and then looks at her, motioning for her to sit as he pours them both cereal and milk.

She can't seem to move, frozen in her spot as she watches him, in her kitchen in the wee hours of the morning knowing his way around with so much familiarity, where she herself has never quite at home as he seems to be.

To see him like this in the flesh….like her memories of him, of their life together. It's almost too much.

"What's wrong Liv?" He asks, looking at her with concern when he realizes she's not joining him.

"You're here… you're really here." She swallows the lump working its way up her throat, staring at him like he'll simply disappear if she so much as blinks.

"Of course I am here. Where else would I be?" He asks simply without making a big deal of her question or the fact that he's more than aware that she had been one second away from losing it, smiling as he takes her hand and leads her towards the chair.

"You should eat… I know you hate it when your cereal gets soggy." He tells her, digging into his own bowl with gusto.

Now she might really cry, Olivia thinks…

They sit in silence for a few minutes, half-dressed and eating cereal, feeling rather content with the world at large.

"I am not going anywhere you know." He tells her gently then his hand coming to rest on hers and giving it a squeeze, his touch just as knowing as the tone of his voice of her fears.

She doesn't look at him right away, not trusting herself to speak.

"Famous last words Bishop…" She finally replies giving him a bittersweet smile "I believe you've made some iteration of that statement before, several in fact."

He chuckles at that, nodding at her. "I have been known to do that. Haven't I?"

"Come here…" He says then, pulling her up from her chair onto his lap in a single smooth move bringing a hand to her hair, staring at her like she had been doing not so long ago, before sighing almost helplessly.

"I don't know what to say Liv… I wish I could tell you that things will be different this time except that I am firmly convinced that this stupid world has some vendetta against the two of us being together."

He looks strangely fatalistic as he says that and she hates it.

"Well we showed this stupid world didn't we?" She says, allowing him to capture her lips in a kiss.

"We certainly did." He whispers against her lips, kissing her on the cheek lightly in a familiar movement.

"Just promise me…. you'll keep saying it and meaning it." She asks, bringing her forehead to rest against his.

"I will." He nods and then smiles at her a little less seriously. "But no offense sweetheart, if you want me around, you're going to have to eventually stock up on something else besides Cheerios. Unlike you, I am merely mortal. I need to eat to live."

"Well, how about tomorrow you do the shopping for both of us seeing as you're going to be living here and everything." She tells him dropping a trail of kisses on his jaw down his neck.

"Did I hear wrong or was that your oblique way of asking me to move in with you?" He pulls away to look at her a little more than surprised.

"You didn't hear wrong… and I am not asking." She tells him with a meaningful smile before turning her attention to his earlobe, nibbling on it gently, making him hiss with pleasure.

"A few hours of having me back and you're already telling me what to do?" He says without any really protest.

"Haven't I always told you what to do?" She says looking at him again. "It's worked out pretty well for you so far, so why doubt my judgment now?" She says, before renewing her assault on his senses, moving her lips against his chest.

"Yes mam." He says pulling her closer. She thinks he's going to go for a kiss, but he simply holds her, bringing her head to rest in the nook of his neck.

"It's worked out pretty well."

* * *

"You have to keep your eyes closed all right? No peeking." He tells her, as he puts his arms around her waist and leads her up the stairs.

"I get it Peter. I am familiar with the concept of a surprise." She tells him dryly.

Olivia knows she should be scared, especially in her condition but the thought of Peter letting her stumble or fall as they ascend the staircase is laughable.

After all these years, he still makes her feel completely safe.

He's guiding her through the second floor of their house now, undoubtedly towards the room that has been shrouded in mystery behind a closed door for almost two months now, buzzing with unknown activity as the telltale sounds of power tools and hammering filter through the walls and mailmen keep making her sign for small and large packages that Peter hauls up there without a word of explanation her way, making her more than curious to know what the hell he did in there, locked up for hours on the weekend, emerging downstairs every now and then, sweaty and shirtless, jeans damp from perspiration and grinning with obvious self-satisfaction, chugging down whole bottles of cold water and throwing her a cocky wink before heading back upstairs.

She has _some_ idea of course. She is an FBI investigator after all. She knows what the room is meant for. What purpose they had decided it was going to serve when they first saw it.

"Okay you can open your eyes now." He tells her and when she does… she almost wants to close them back again just so she can be surprised again.

"Oh my god…" She gasps, fumbling for his shirt behind her, so she can hold on, unsure if her feet will keep her steady as she takes in the beautiful sight in front of her, running her eyes over every exquisite detail of the nursery that is unlike anything she's seen before.

It's not pink for one, the walls a delightful shade of green interspersed with other bright hues of the remarkable mural of uncluttered forest scenery that she finds herself enchanted with. All the baby furniture in the room - the crib, the changing table, the rocking chair painted a deep shade of brown to complement the walls.

She takes in the various changes he's made to the room, making it more functional, more convenient. The extra shelves he's installed at places which would need them, the box seats by the large window.

There isn't a single poufy or frilly element to the entire place… which is perfect because she wouldn't have gone for something like that anyway.

"I thought she should have something that will grow up with her you know, instead of something typically babyish, which she'll want to roll her eyes at when she's older." He tells her. "So what do you think?" He's asking her now, awaiting a response.

"Liv, if you don't like something, I can change it." He says a little concerned at the lack of any verbal response from her.

"Like it? I love it?" She tells him incredulously, finally tearing her eyes away from the room and looking at him with amazement.

"Peter, it's perfect." She exclaims pushing forward into his embrace and looping her arms around him, as much as she can with her ample stomach coming between them that is. "It's so perfect in every way. I love it so much. Thank you." She tiptoes to kiss him.

"I am glad." He smiles against her lips, when they break apart. "And it's not fully done. I am sure you have ideas of your own, so I am yours to command for anything else you want done."

She doesn't say anything, simply turning back to look at his beautiful handiwork some more. Her eyes come to rest upon the large handcrafted block letters above the crib.

"Etta…" She reads out the name on the wall, looking back at him inquisitively.

"Yeah, I thought Henrietta would be too long and fussy to put up there and this sounded a little less old- fashioned." He says.

"Etta…'" She says it again smiling to herself, her hand drifting to her belly, being rewarded by a strong kick.

"She likes being called that." Olivia says.


	25. Chapter 25

Olivia makes her way down to the lab, trying not to bump into the excessive number of students in the crowded hallway.

Sometimes she almost forgets that this was a building where normal kids attended their classes, several of which are in session right now.

She wonders what these students or their teachers would make of the weirdness that happened on a daily basis just two floors below their classes.

She walks briskly, passing one open door after the other, catching micro snatches of lectures on everything from Western philosophy to sociology.

A collective round of laughter resonates from one of the classrooms at the end of the hallway, becoming louder as she approaches closer.

"Dude that's hilarious." She pictures some partially stoned, vapid nineteen year old with scruffy hair in her mind when she hears the exaggerated drawl.

"I concur, but seriously you guys, what do we think about Heisenberg's uncertainty principle? "

She's about to make her way down the staircase when she stops at the sound of that voice. It's much too familiar.

"But you haven't taught us anything about it yet." A perky female voice speaks up.

"Well I could. But who here wants to sit through something you could read off your textbooks on your own or on Wikipedia for that matter. I certainly don't. What I am asking you guys to do is to think about what the concept of uncertainty does to our understanding of science. About the things we think are finite and fixed. Think about what happens when something or someone comes along and shows you that everything you believed about the laws of physics, of nature are questionable."

Olivia shakes her head in incredulity, as she abandons her original path and moves closer to the open door to confirm her suspicions.

And sure enough, sitting there on the desk in the classroom in front of about twenty unsuspecting students, like he simply belonged there and nowhere else, was Peter with a grin on his face.

He meets her eyes and for a second looks surprised.

She's shaking her head at him in disapproval, but he simply grins some more, not even having the decency to look even just a little bit contrite.

"I am sorry are you in this class? Because we started twenty minutes ago and I don't like late comers." He tells her seriously, as twenty pairs of younger eyes follow his to look at her.

Their eyes are still locked in a wordless communication, indifferent to everybody else staring at her. And he's looking at her with the utmost confidence that she won't call his bluff.

The knowing smirk on his face almost makes her want to. But two can play this game she thinks.

"What happened to the professor who usually teaches this class?" She asks him, walking in casually, still not sitting.

"He couldn't be here today. I am covering. Have a seat and try not to be too disruptive Miss?" He asks her pointedly somewhat in a put on annoyed voice, though the corners of his mouth were twitching with a private humor.

"It's Dunham." She tells him with a cold stare as she sinks into one of the desks, letting him know with her expression just how much he'll be paying for this little game later.

"Right, Miss Dunham." He nods dismissively.

"So let's get you caught up shall we. Who'd like to bring our tardy student to speed on what we were talking about?"

A hand shoots up as Olivia recognizes the perky voice that she's heard earlier. "We were talking about science and uncertainty Dr. Bishop." She offers with an eager little smile plastered all over her face.

Olivia almost snorts at the way the girl is staring at him.

_ ? _ She cocks an eyebrow at him when he meets her gaze once again before turning to the student.

"Why yes we were? Thank you." He gives her an encouraging smile of his own

"It's Christie." She grins, looking at him in absolute adoration, and now Olivia really can't help herself from rolling her eyes.

He nods, and turns to the class. "So how do we make sense of uncertainty when everything we learn about science tells us that there's no room for it. Let's take classical Newtonian mechanics as an example - solid theory, gave us the laws of motion, all that good stuff. But then wait for it, our esteemed company of Einstein, Bohr, Heisenberg and their ragtag group of merry scientists come along, posit relativity as a theory, completely shatter our previous understanding of space and time as finite and immovable, voila… we have quantum mechanics, a whole new branch of theoretical physics that we never had before. Just try to put yourself in the shoes of your average spiffy scientist in his white lab coat back then and think about how that would blow your mind."

He pauses for dramatic effect and Olivia sees the collective sense of anticipation that has built into the classroom.

"But we still use Newtonian mechanics to this day, don't we?" One of the students says.

"Of course we do, it's still a great way to predict and understand motion in large bodies." He nods in agreement. "But quantum theory that's a different ball game altogether. It changes the way we understand reality itself."

"Reality becomes a matter of perception." Olivia says, unable to help herself, giving him a secretive smile.

"Right you are Miss Dunham." He grins back at her. "Imagine that. If you could make reality whatever you wanted it to be. Would you change anything? Be somebody else, have another existence altogether?"

"Like an alternate reality or something." The kid with the stoned voice speaks up.

"Exactly. If we assume that reality does not progress in a linear fashion and that every possible quantum outcome is realized at some point on the space-time continuum, we then have to accept that there are multiple alternate realities, alternate universes in fact."

"Isn't that a bit far-fetched? One of the students asks.

"Well yeah, but if twenty years ago someone had told you you'd be carrying iPhones in your pockets, you would have thought that far-fetched too. Every invention or discovery always seems crazy and unimaginable at some point before it becomes commonplace. So maybe there is an alternate universe out there. Maybe there are several….infinite versions of all of us running around living the same and yet completely different lives because of different choices they made at some point in life. What would you say to the possibility of something like that?"

"It'd be totally awesome." A girl says and a loud murmur of agreement echoes through the class.

"Like a videogame." Someone else says "Or a TV show."

_ Kids, you have no idea. _ Olivia thinks to herself.

"Exactly, it would be pretty awesome." Peter nods at the class. "So our lesson from all of this is that we should appreciate the power of uncertainty, imagine the impossible, because our reality ultimately shaped by how we choose to see it."

He then looks at Olivia with an incomprehensible expression on his face. "The universe is change; our life is what our thoughts make it. Marcus Aurelius, a great philosopher king, emperor of Rome once said that. My father is rather fond of quoting him." He shrugs. "And on that note, let's turn our attention to knowing a little more about Heisenberg's quantum mechanical uncertainty principle for position and momentum and what exactly it does."

He's turning to the white board now, writing out equations and launching into an explanation of said theory and Olivia watches him in silence, unable to hide the strange pride she felt at the way the class seemed to be under his spell, listening to his every word with rapt attention, asking questions and participating in what seemed to be a very lively discussion.

She doesn't even realize when class gets over, as does no one else.

"Okay folks, that's all we got time for today." Peter says nodding decisively and then shrugs apologetically as the class almost collectively sighs.

Olivia watches from her desk, as students begin to clear out, some dropping by his desk to thank him for the class. Christie is among them, standing there twirling her hair. "So any chance you'll be coming to cover class for us again sometime Dr. Bishop?"

"Oh, I think I won't be doing any teaching for some time now." He tells her throwing Olivia a sideways grin. "This was strictly a one-time thing."

"That's too bad. I totally loved the stuff on the multiple universes and I was really hoping we could talk some more about it… maybe over a drink or something?" Her voice trails off hopefully.

"Thanks but I already have plans for today. I am meeting my girlfriend later." He says, a studied courtesy suddenly entering his earlier casual demeanor. "I'd be happy to recommend a couple of books if you're interested though."

"Sure…" she nods, disappointment written all overhears face, as she slinks away unhappily.

"Wow, Dr. Bishop, that was some class." Olivia says getting up from her desk, now that the class was empty. "Mind telling me when you joined Harvard's teaching staff exactly?"

"I wouldn't consider myself teaching staff, more like visiting faculty." He says, grinning still too good naturedly for someone about to be in a monumental amount of trouble.

"So…you just walk into any classroom you feel like and start teaching?" She asks him, her arms folded over her chest, trying to seem more upset than she actually was.

"Sometimes." He nods and then gives her a somewhat apologetic look. "Look, there are days when I get bored or I feel like I might literally be driven to kill Walter, so I get out of the lab and walk around and sometimes, a class will be cancelled and there'll be a notice up on the board and I'll just go in and have some fun with the kids, teach them something, talk to them about stuff. It's nice."

"And the fact that you have no authorization or right to do that, and that you could get caught doesn't concern you?" She asks him trying hard to hide her smile.

"I haven't been caught yet have I?" He asks smugly.

"Except now you have been caught and you will stop, yes?" She says meaningfully.

"Oh come on. You were in here, I am good at this." He shrugs. "And it's not like I am not doing any harm…"

"Peter..." She says with a warning look. "If someone found out you were doing things like this, the agency might be forced to revoke your credentials."

He doesn't look entirely convinced. "We might not get to work with each other anymore if that happens." She then says, looking at him anxiously.

"Fine, no more pretending to be faculty." He huffs and slides off the desk, taking her hand as he leads her out of the classroom. "Let's go back to our dungeon in the basement with our own resident mad scientist. I mean how could the joy of being neck deep in disgusting things possibly compare to that of educating young and bright minds. " He says sardonically.

"Oh I don't know." Olivia links her arm in his as they make their way down the staircase. "These young and bright minds would probably run away screaming their guts out if they knew all that stuff you were talking about was true. I mean think about it. Why just teach about this stuff when you can actually do it?" She says giving him a grin.

"I suppose you're right. We do have pretty awesome jobs don't we?" He says, smiling at her, before pulling her into the darkened corner in a close embrace. "And the perks are certainly fantastic." He murmurs planting a furtive kiss on her lips.

"You mean the ones that allow you to hang out with me all day, not do any actual work and make out on a college campus whenever the fancy strikes you?" She teases him.

"Best career decision ever." He whispers against her lips, before leaning forward to kiss her on the neck, his hands moving lower down her back

"Well, remind me to drop off a copy of the FBI workplace etiquette manual tomorrow. You obviously have a lot of rules to learn about." She halts his hands in their downward path and clasps them in hers, pushing him away to force some distance.

"I can't teach, I can't make out with you. you're really taking the job satisfaction out this whole thing you know." He pouts rather petulantly.

"How about we go downstairs and help Walter? Maybe find a lead in the case, catch our suspects, save the world? Is that enough job satisfaction for you?" She asks shaking her head as she makes her way down the flight of stairs, him behind her.

"Yes Agent Dunham." He says nodding; knowing when the time for fun and games was over.

"And Peter?" She turns around as they reach the basement, giving him a teasing look.

"If you ever feel the urge to teach again Dr. Bishop, I am always up for some private lessons… in the night." She lets the suggestion linger in the air, watching his face change with comprehension, allowing herself a triumphant smile at his dumbstruck expression before making her way into the lab.


	26. Chapter 26

Many years later, she dreams of the lake by the woods again.

She's standing on the pier watching the beautiful serene waters, the fiery splendor of fall all around, leaves falling down slowly.

"It's beautiful out here, isn't it?" She hears his familiar voice.

He's standing beside her.

She turns to look at him, his eyes the same shade of piercing blue as she remembers.

"I thought I'd find you here." She tells him.

"I've been here all along Liv. I never left."

"I know." She tells him.

"You're happy aren't you?" He asks her, looking at the water.

"More than I ever thought was possible." She nods and smiles. His gaze falls on the ring on her finger.

"That could have been us."

"Many things could have been." She says simply, turning towards him.

"Maybe if we'd had more time…I wanted to give you all this you know."

"You gave me so much." She takes his hand, squeezing it gently.

"But I couldn't give you what you have now. I don't think I could have ever given you that." He smiles sadly. "You were the love of my life you know that."

"I know."

"And I am glad you found yours Liv." He takes her chin and pulls her close, kissing her cheek gently.

"I love you Liv. Always…" He tells her.

"I'll always love you too John."

Olivia wakes up feeling disoriented and out of sorts. She immediately reaches out to the other side of the bed, opening her eyes when she finds it empty.

Her eyes fall on Peter pacing around the room slowly with their daughter in his arms who was snuggled up against his chest, fast asleep and her lips curve into a smile she can't help. Etta was a relatively small baby, but she just looked so absolutely tiny in his arms, as he cradled her head and rocked her gently.

She also looked like she simply belonged there, safe in her father's resilient embrace.

"Hey..." She whispers to him from under the covers, trying not to startle him.

"Hey…" He smiles at her.

"She was fussy, so I was trying to get her to go back to sleep." He says by way of explanation. "Did we wake you?"

She shakes her head. "I had a strange dream."

"What was it about?" He asks, dropping a kiss on Etta's head absently.

She shrugs and then smiles at him.

"About what could have been."


	27. Chapter 27

"How on earth do you know so many great breakfast places?" Olivia asks, biting into her crepes with an appreciative sigh.

"Sweetheart, I know more about Boston than you're FBI databases could ever tell you." Peter tells her smugly, meeting her disapproving though not _really_ eyes before breaking into a more innocent grin.

"I grew up in this city remember. Sunday brunch was kind of a family tradition with my mother and me. Every week we'd pick a restaurant randomly. It was our thing, one of the very few normal and happy things we did together..." His voice trails off.

"Do you like your pancakes honey?" He turns his attention to their daughter who's currently licking away at the maple syrup from her spoon, abruptly stopping himself from going down memory trips that didn't need any revisiting.

"Mmmm hmmm." She nods her eyes wide and expressive, taking great pleasure in her morning sugar fix.

Peter laughs at that, and busies himself with some idle chatter to her about the importance of quality maple syrup.

Olivia doesn't say anything, as she watches the two of them eat with a small smile of her own.

If someone had only told her that she would find her normal with the most dysfunctional family across two different universes.

She would have found the Bishops a lot earlier in her life.

She has come to love one like her own father, married another and given birth to a third.

And together they make up the gooey sweet centre of the nutty chocolate bar that is her life.

_You see, family is very important to me. There's nothing I wouldn't do._

Walter had said that to her a long time ago and she had nodded understandingly though not really grasping the depth of his feelings.

She had never had much by way of family… except Rachel and Ella... and now Eddie, whom she loved to distraction but who were part of their own unit in a way she couldn't really be.

And the possibility of having something like that of her own had certainly seemed a little more than bleak at that time. But she had come to treat what the three of them, her, Peter and Walter had together as the closest thing she'd have to one.

_You know, this past year, this is the longest I've ever stayed in one place. So this thing that we have, you, me, Walter, this...uh.., little family unit that we've got going... I don't want to do anything to jeopardize that._

And yet she has it now, her very own family. Not just in the wistful way Peter had once talked about it but an actual family.

People she could count on, call her own.

A mad scientist, a woman with superpowers and a man from another universe who was literally erased from time.

It sounds like a setup for a bad joke or an intro to the most redundant comic book ever written. But in the weirdest of ways three fragmented individuals like herself, Peter and Walter…they come together to create something special and unique.

It doesn't matter how they got here or what existed before... they have each other for now. She has a family and it's hers and its perfection in every which way.

She'll admit it's unreasonably skewed with the number of geniuses it's made up of…three more than most gene pools will probably see in several generations.

But she also knows that their histories are far more burdened than others, that a lot more has been taken from them and far too much is always expected from them.

Every time she looks at Etta, she is reminded of all the good that the serendipitous crossing of their paths has brought about.

The day she's born… she'll never forget the look on Walter's as he holds her for the first time.

"She looks so much like Peter doesn't she?" He'd asked her, almost wonderstruck and she sees the mixture of elation and sorrow in his eyes as he takes in the sight of her daughter.

Her daughter is a Bishop to the bone and she sees it all too plainly. In the eyes that are always rife with pure unadulterated mischief, or the slightly more innocent but all too familiar smirk she wears ever so often, categorically confident in her own abilities to get away with anything she pleases.

She's a smooth con-artist, working people effortlessly into giving her what she wants, with her proclivity for words and a smile that nearly flattens with charm.

Her mind functions at an astonishing pace and wavelength, almost identical to her father and grandfather, which she exhibits time and again in admirable and less than admirable endeavors.

They were so similar in so many ways, right down to their little mannerisms.

She has always seen so much of Walter in her husband, the way their traits mirror each other, the way their minds work, their left-handedness, the crease on their foreheads.

For years now she's been a keen study of all things Peter Bishop and yet, new revelations always come to light.

When she sees Etta and Peter together she sees them, certain bearings that are common to the both of them, but somehow not to Walter.

He sees it too; she's certain...that look of pleasant surprise always followed by an overwhelming sadness that passes through his eyes, before anyone can catch it.

Which leads her to deduce that the genetic roots of their shared traits lie elsewhere.

To that other half of the Greek tragedy that was the Bishop family saga. The one that neither Peter nor Walter would talk about.

Either to each other or to her.

Like all good and bad relationships, she and Peter had their forbidden subjects of conversations which by an unspoken agreement they just knew they weren't supposed to broach.

Hers were filed under John Scott; his were labeled Elizabeth Bishop.

Two names that made up the fine print exemptions to their full disclosure agreement.

She finds it odd how he does this so often; let something about his mother inadvertently slip before clamming up and changing topic or digressing with humor.

She'd seen that tendency in him long before they grew close. She was an investigator after all and she noticed how he seemed to become agitated (more than his usual amount that was) at Walter anytime he mentioned his wife, even in passing.

One day, in their first year of working together he'd been particularly harsh and moody, lashing out at an unusually subdued Walter every instance he could find.

The storm in his eyes never receded once that whole day. She hadn't known him all that well to ask him what was bothering him, but she'd wanted to.

"You're going there aren't you?" She'd overheard Walter ask him, as she sat in the office, typing out paper work.

"What do you think Walter?" His reply had been terse, as he slipped on his coat.

"Son, do you think I could come with you? I'd very much like to…" The older man's voice had been hesitant, almost pleading.

The look in Peter's eyes had taken her breath away. There was enough anger there to combust whatever came in the line of his sight, but beyond that rage simmering on the surface had been a hurt… a raw hurt, a pain unlike which she'd never seen him show before.

She was almost certain that whatever it was, Peter was going to turn him down outright.

But he had simply nodded curtly. "Get your coat and use the bathroom if you have to. I'll be waiting outside."

By the second year, even if the relationship between father and son had improved remarkably, she had seen the same tense silences that crept into conversations anytime more than a passing reference to Peter's mother was made.

She had known without having to be told on the day when he'd reverted to his brooding, moody self and suddenly took off for several hours without letting anyone know.

She'd always been good at Math and seeing him repeat the same behavior in an interval of 365 days could only mean one thing.

It was the anniversary of his mother's death. He'd gone to visit her grave.

Even after they were together, he rarely ever spoke about her and she never asked. She understood without having to know, some things were just too painful for him to share.

She never asked him why he gave their daughter the middle name Elizabeth. Why he looks at her sometimes with that soul wrenching blink and you miss it sadness at times.

She knows how much he loved his mother, how high in regard he holds her despite everything. It was evident in that reverence that crept into his eyes and voice in those rare moments when he had given into nostalgia and shared with her glimpses from his childhood.

She wishes though he would talk to her about it. But even after all these years, there is still something of that angry young boy in him which drives him to be protective of her… her memories anyway, holding on to the only family of his childhood.

Like he has to keep the world's prying eyes away from her flaws, her passive complicity in the deceit that was sold to him as a child, her own inability in dealing with what she'd done, the constant sadness that moved her to take own life.

Which is understandable but so pointless with her. After all who understood better than her the harsh reality of having to see your mother as fallible, as someone capable of so much love and yet not having the strength that should have ideally complemented it.

At nine years, she'd had to shoot a man because of her mother's inability to stand up for herself or her daughters' safety. Her weakness had come at the grave price of her own innocence and even though Olivia doesn't hold it against her, she can't deny the emotional scars that those years have left her with.

The ones she still grapples with.

At least Peter was lucky that way. His mother had gone out of her way to keep him safe, to protect him and make him feel loved.

She knows this from a long lost memory, something that had returned to her when the timelines had begun to realign in her head, replacing what was with what had been once.

A memory that they'd both forgotten… repressed to be clinically accurate.

A memory of a childhood encounter with him in Jacksonville, a chance meeting of their eyes through a glass window, of hands held together in a field of white tulips as the first snow of that winter made its way down, the cold flakes somehow inexplicably warming her up on the inside, as was the touch of the boy sitting next to her amidst the carnage of charred flowers, the one who had shrugged at her warning to stay away and told her he wasn't scared, urging her to trust… put her faith in something beyond her own shoulders which were already sagging with burdens no child should have to carry.

In hindsight that was too much subtext for two eight year olds she can't help think.

As they had walked back to the daycare centre, she had remembered thinking hopefully in that earnest way that only children were capable of doing, that maybe Dr. Walter would move his family here.

That maybe Peter would be around, that they could spend more time together. Maybe she would introduce him to Nick.

She remembers the distraught beautiful woman running up to him and hugging him, running her hands through his face and his jacket anxiously to make sure he was unharmed, asking him if he was alright.

Her mother had seen every scar and bruise she had suffered at the hands of her stepfather and had tended to them gently, kissed them and apologized over and over again, hugging her close before bedtime.

But she had never been able to promise her that it wouldn't happen again.

She had never been able to protect her.

The beatings had stopped after that night. Her stepfather never laid another hand on her for the time he was in their lives. It's funny how Peter had been indirectly responsible for that, for giving her the courage to speak up and act against a wrong that was being done to her.

Long before he'd known her, he had saved her once, even if he didn't remember. A boy with piercing blue eyes that seemed to be able to look into her very soul.

The same boy who grew up to be a man, her knight in a navy blue pea coat… with terrible shooting aim and sarcasm for his armor.

Olivia owed so much to the woman who was responsible for making him that man whom she fell in love with.

* * *

"One day yet, she'll actually stay awake through an entire movie and we won't have to watch it for days in bits and pieces till we finish it, and then all over again." He shrugs, as he switches off the television with his free hand, a task made difficult given that Etta was curled up against him in the most haphazard way, hidden under a mountain of blankets, making it virtually impossible for him to exercise his limbs.

"I swear Liv, if I have to sit through any more screenings of The Little Mermaid, I am going to borrow your gun to shoot something." He complains with an exasperated sigh, as he carefully rolls etta away onto the actual bed, instead of the one she'd fashioned for herself on his chest.

"Nobody ever asked you to sit and watch it with her every single time." Olivia points out.

"Umm she did. She told me I had to watch it with her." He says, giving her an obvious look.

"And who's the parent here again?" She asks him rolling her eyes at him. "You're the one in charge, not the other way around, or did you just forget that little fun fact."

"Hey, it's not easy being all authoritative with her. She happens to be very persuasive when she wants something you know." He says a little defensively.

"You mean like when she turns her big, blue eyes at you and pouts and the next second you're on your knees ready to crawl to the ends of the earth and back." She says dryly, enjoying the sheepish look on his face.

"Doesn't she have her own room?" She asks then, mildly confused at the amount of their daughter's stuff that had found its way to their bedroom, as she picks up the discarded toys and books lying all around the floor.

"I guess she just prefers ours." He grins at her, his expression softening at the sight of Etta's blond head barely visible under the blankets. "Want me to put her in her bed?"

Olivia shrugs, shaking her head. "What's the point, she'll be here in the morning like clockwork, banging on the door, wanting to be let in. Might as well save ourselves the early wakeup call."

"Never ending joys of parenting huh?" He says wryly. "I think this is payback for all the time I gave my mother grief. I used to pull stuff like this on her all the time you know. Get her to say yes to everything using my admittedly wicked charms. Pouty lip, wide eyes, these were all my signature moves."

"Somehow I have no trouble believing that." She tells him, climbing into the bed, next to her daughter, trying to make room for herself.

"Yeah, never thought I'd be the one getting suckered into it one day though." He shakes his head, bending down to press a kiss to Etta's head fondly.

"Tell me about her." She says abruptly, tired of holding back the curiosity, of being allowed tiny glimpses into this aspect of his life and never more.

"Tell you about whom?" He asks a little confused.

"Your mother. What was she like?" She asks bluntly.

"She was what she was like, Liv." He says vaguely, his jaw line tightening a tad, indicating that he wasn't particularly happy with her question.

"Peter…" She urges him gently, reaching out a hand to rest against his shoulder. "I just want to know about her. She was obviously important to you and you seem to have such fond memories of her."

"Yeah well, memories can be tricky things you know. Illusions of the past that we reimagine to be a certain way because it makes it easier to deal with the reality of what actually happened." His eyes are pensive as he speaks.

"Well. I think you and I both know reality is a bit overrated." She smiles. "I am sure she was everything you remember her being."

He smiles back at her, even though it doesn't reach his eyes. "She was a lot like you actually… intense, like she had the weight of the world on her shoulders." His gaze is faraway, almost like he's slipped back into his childhood. "But she had the most beautiful smile, when she smiled that is… everything around her would come alive."

"You know everybody always assumes that I inherited my intellect from Walter, but she was crazy smart too, emphasis on smart and not so much on the crazy." He chuckles meeting Olivia's eyes as she nods encouragingly, his expression somewhat lighter.

"She was really good with languages… very well-travelled and knew so much about other places and countries. I guess I get that from her. She spoke flawless German and French and she would teach me how to pronounce all the different words. She was the one who taught me about art and books and music and opened my mind to all the beautiful things in life…" His voice halts as he swallows audibly.

"She devoted her life to being there for me, to being the most amazing mother any child could ask for and I can't even imagine how hard it must have been for her to do that. To look at me every day with nothing but unconditional love and have to see the face of the child she lost, the one who was actually hers. I must have caused her so much pain. I was so angry at Walter for so long... Because I thought he was responsible for her sadness. I hated him for doing this to us, to her. For leaving her all alone. But I never realized it was me who was responsible for it, for her pain… for her death."

"Peter, that's not true. You know that." She tells him feeling uneasy at the turn their conversation had taken. "You can't blame yourself for what happened."

"Who else is there to blame Liv?" He asks her calmly. He abruptly gets up from the bed and moves away to the window, facing away from her. Not speaking for a few seconds.

"She called me you know… the day before she... she called me and we spoke for a long time and she seemed so happy. She asked me if I was enjoying myself, and wanted to know about all the places I'd seen so far and the things I'd done, and if I'd met any nice girls. Her voice was so full of life and I never even once suspected that she was depressed or less than okay. "

"Peter…"

"She asked me if I missed her and the way she said it...I should have known something was wrong." He shakes his head. "And I was supposed to be good at reading people." He scoffs.

Olivia walks to him and puts her arms around him, pressing a kiss to his back. "Peter there's no way you could have known. Please don't do this to yourself."

"Do you know what I did when she asked me that Liv?" He turns to her, his face rife with self-loathing.

"I laughed it off and made a joke. Like I always do. I should have told her the truth… that I missed her very much. That I felt so homesick at times...I should have told her." He whispers hotly, his eyes mirroring torment.

"It might have made her feel better. She might have never gone through with…" His voice falters… breaks. "I never even told her how much she meant to me, not once. All I wanted to do was run away from Boston, to break free and have my grand adventure and it never occurred to me to stay, to be there for her like she had done for me. "

"She wouldn't have asked you to do that, you know that." Olivia lays a hand on his cheek, trying to soothe him with her touch in the way he always does to her, so effectively, cringing at the way his eyes were fighting a battle of stoicism.

"But I should have known without her having to ask. She needed me and I turned my back on her."

She shakes her head at him, pleading with him wordlessly to not torture himself like this.

"She died all alone with no one by her side, Liv." He finally breaks, his face speaking of an unimaginable sorrow. "And I was a thousand miles away in Paris doing shots in a bar."

She instinctively pulls him close as he moves into her embrace, crushing her into an impossibly tight hold and burying his head into her shoulder.

She runs her hand through his hair, feeling wetness seep into her t-shirt as she holds him close and doesn't speak for some time.

"I am sure she knew….that you loved her very much." She whispers to him after a while, nudging him gently to look at her.

"I am what killed her…" He says shakily, his face torn with a guilt Olivia had never seen before.

"No." She says resolutely, taking his hand in hers and squeezing it gently. "If anything you're what kept her alive."

"Liv…"

"Without you, she didn't have any reason to live Peter." She tells him softly but with complete determination. "You made her so happy, gave her purpose, she tried for you… for as long as she could. Without you, she was only left with the loss of her child and she couldn't bear it. In this timeline, she died years before… she just couldn't find the strength to go on. So please don't blame yourself for what happened. This wasn't your fault. It never was.

He nods painfully, though his eyes tell her that he was far from convinced. "I wish you'd gotten the chance to meet her." He says then slowly, smiling wistfully.

"So do I." She nods.

"She would have loved you you know." He says, his gaze then drifting to their sleeping daughter. "And she would have loved Etta… so much. It would have made her so happy to see her, see the way my life turned out. I think it would have made her proud." He says with hope, his face turning boyish... almost innocent.

Olivia nods, placing a kiss on his lips.

"I think she was always very proud of you." She says.

He smiles gratefully at her and pulls her into a hug, his chin resting on her head. "I wrote my first piece of music for her you know. It had like a ton of mistakes… the tempo was way off and the notes were badly arranged and yet she was so thrilled…made me play it again and again, every night. Our neighbors actually came over to complain and make it stop."

Olivia laughs, feeling relieved at the return of the lightness to his tone.

"Tell me about it." She says, feeling like for once the silences had been lifted.

"Tell me about her."


	28. Chapter 28

She looks around the bar with a removed look, observing the different kinds of people in there that night, friends meeting up for drinks after a long hard day's work, couples on dates.

Lonely men and women like her trying to escape the solitude of their lives for a while…

She doesn't know why she chose this bar of all the ones she could have gone to, the one Peter had brought her to after their case in Jacksonville.

Actually she does know, but she's gotten good at pretending ignorance about a lot of things.

Like the reason she avoids her own home these days, feels like a stranger in that place where someone else had lived her life…

… and by all accounts, had done a really convincing and far better job of it.

She's gotten good at pretending like she's over her feelings for Peter. Like it doesn't matter anymore.

Her job needs her, and she needs him for her job… the rest is irrelevant.

He's pulled away from her too. He doesn't talk to her as much anymore, doesn't joke around. Doesn't accompany her on the field, opting instead to stay in the lab with Walter.

She pretends like the distance doesn't bother her, like it doesn't kill her a little bit every time he bites his lip when he's about to make one of his snarky remarks, changing the course of his words midway, when he addresses her formally as Agent Dunham at a crime scene.

He doesn't even look into her eyes when they speak anymore.

Her sacrifice of possible romance has taken their friendship along with it as collateral damage.

And she pretends like the loss of that friendship doesn't devastate her every day.

She knows realistically even if her anger and her decision to end the possibility of them having anything is justified; blaming him in the end for what happened was simply unfair.

He has been scathed by what happened just as much as her.

And if she really tried to investigate the matters of her own heart, she knows there is more than the flash reaction to knowing what happened between them that is stopping her, keeping her from maybe even attempting to move ahead with her life.

She swirls the whiskey in her tumblr, checking her watch and contemplating if she feels suitably inebriated to be able to go back to her home and not feel like the walls are closing in on her.

The prospect of going to that apartment and sleeping in her empty bed would have been a comforting thought two years ago.

Now it simply feels like a punishment she's inflicted upon herself. Because she's tasted the myriad flavors of an easy and effortless companionship, basked in the warmth of a cherished friendship of someone who cares about her and makes no effort to hide it, been teased with the possibility of that being more, becoming more.

And she's too damn afraid of knowing the truth about how important that has become to her.

She sighs, ready to call for a waiter and settle her tab when she spots him.

She's not drunk enough to be hallucinating or having been brainwashed into thinking she was someone else in an alternate universe for that matter.

She immediately ducks and pushes herself into the corner of her table, placing herself in a position where she can see him but go unseen herself.

She allows herself a good look at him as he talks to the hostess with an easy smile and familiarity.

He knows her… she remembers. The last time too, he'd been friendly to the woman, asking her about her son and how he was doing.

She remembers this despite her head reeling from what she had learnt about him that night.

She thinks about her next move, wondering if she should alert him to her presence. Maybe give him a quick hello and then leave.

It would be childish to try and walk away, act as if she didn't notice him. She's not that good at pretending yet.

Even as she runs through the options in her head, she notices when a woman joins him, coming to stand next to him as the hostess now points them towards a booth.

He puts his hand on the woman's back, a stunning blond with long, wavy hair and amber eyes and impossibly high cheekbones not unlike a model, smiling warmly at her as he leads them to their table.

Olivia downs the remnants of her glass in one big gulp, feeling the alcohol burn its way down her throat.

She was an idiot… she really was. Here she has been struggling all these days to find a way to make things better, assuming in her foolish naiveté that he would simply be waiting there for her if and when she decided to let him back into her life.

And it never occurs to her that he might have simply given up on them and moved on; found someone else from the looks of it.

She was a fool to think that he wouldn't prefer to simply sign off from this sick drama that was their situation.

After all, he could have anybody he wanted. There was really no reason for him to be broken up over something that had never been instead of actually living his life, being with women far more interesting and attractive than her.

She watches them together from her spot, the way he smiles and laughs and talks animatedly with the woman, without any of the hesitation or the shadow in his eyes that always seemed to creep into their brief and impersonal conversations nowadays.

He reaches out and takes her hand squeezing it gently as he gives her a comforting look, and she gives him a fond smile.

Olivia remembers a time when he would have made a gesture like that towards her…

She loves the way he would do that with her, the way he would put his hand on hers, or her shoulder unassumingly. It was simple and beautiful, a gesture of being there, nothing more.

He never touches her anymore, not even a tap on her shoulder.

She knows she should walk away and stop torturing herself by watching the two of them. She would have more than some explaining to do if she was caught by him.

But she can't look away either, she's mesmerized by the look of warmth on his face, the twinkle in his eyes that she hasn't seen for so long now.

That could have been her sitting opposite him, laughing at his stories, feeling the tensions of her day slip away.

She misses him so much, even when she basically spends all her waking hours with him she misses him because of the masks he now hides behind, because of the pretense of normal that she has engineered so successfully.

She could live with the knowledge that she wasn't strong enough to save their relationship. But to think he's given up on them… on her.

It's breaking down her facades of functionality, demolishing them to be accurate.

Another night her pillows will be soaked wet with tears, as she cries in the wee hours of the dawn. It's her only solace, the one luxury she can allow herself.

She doesn't want to cry, doesn't see the good it does besides giving her a headache. But she can't help herself.

For long she has adhered to the doctrine of stoicism, to not wish for things that she couldn't have.

Love, belonging, happiness… dreams that she had put on the backburner with a fatalistic certainty that they were not really meant for her anyway.

But he had changed that, brought something into her life she didn't even now she wanted and now it was gone.

She had shown him the door, pushed him out her life and asked him to stay away. So why does it hurt so much when he was only doing what she had wanted him to.

The other woman is glancing at her watch now, shaking her head and grabbing her bag. She's standing up to leave and he gets up with her, allowing her to pull him into a significantly long embrace, before she presses a lingering kiss on his cheek, and then after a moment's hesitation pulls his lips into a brief kiss. She lets go very quickly as does he, her hand coming to rest affectionately on his stubble and they exchange what are no doubt some heartwarming words.

He watches her leave with a wistful expression, sinking back into his seat, before he seems to realize something.

Olivia knows the moment she's been made, when he turns in her direction and looks at her, his eyes, registering a good amount of surprise.

She meets his eye and gives him a shrug, a half-smile, bracing herself for an explanation of what essentially amounted to her spying on him with someone else.

But he doesn't walk over to her, and instead gives her a nod and a smile himself, holding up his glass in a slight tip in her direction, before he settles himself back in his seat and averts his eyes to idly look out the window on the other side, effectively tuning out her presence.

She feels her stomach hollow out, emptiness shatter her ribcage from within at his behavior. It's not coldness, its… indifference, its resignation.

It's the behavior of someone who has decided it wasn't worth it after all. Whatever little they had and could have had…

She's beyond angry, beyond disappointed.

It's like a cold and hard slap to her face and she can't pretend it doesn't hurt anymore.

She might have mastered the art of ignoring what was in front of her, but she'll be damned if she allows him to do that to her, treat her that way.

She crossed a fucking universe to save his stupid life and he can't even make even an effort to walk over a few feet and say hi to her, maybe act just a little bit chagrined at being seen with another woman.

She should have left him in that stupid place with no coffee and bad atmospheric conditions, she thinks angrily. That would have shown him to maybe be a little more grateful, a little more considerate of the fact that she was right there in front of him and he was essentially acting like she was vapor.

She swallows her bruised ego, and walks over to him, determined not to let her anger make her look or feel out of control.

"Hey." She says not softly, meeting his gaze squarely when he turns to look at her with mild surprise, which he hides quickly.

"Hey Olivia." He somewhat smiles at her. "Nice to have an evening off after back to back cases right. Are you enjoying your night?"

His tone is exceptionally polite, exceptionally kind.

It is also exceptionally irritating. Completely devoid of any affection or familiarity, the kind of tone, one uses with a passing acquaintance.

Except she wasn't a passing acquaintance and he fucking knows that

"Not as much you're enjoying yours apparently." She tells him. "Hot date?" She asks casually, trying hard not to sound catty or jealous.

And hoping against hope that he didn't read anything in her tone.

He chuckles and shakes his head. "No, not really." He says wryly. "Tess is … an old friend of mine. Ex-girlfriend actually. It was nice to catch up with her." He says, his eyes mirroring that fond expression from earlier.

Olivia nods letting the relief flood her veins, knowing him well enough to know he wasn't lying to her.

Of course he would have old friends; he had a million different friends. The man attracted people with the charisma of a fucking movie star.

She forgets that of the three of them, he was the only one who had anything of a life outside Fringe division. Walter didn't seem to need anything more than the lab and his son's company and she…. well she didn't need much more than Peter too.

Except she didn't even have him anymore and this strange and deceptively civil conversation they were having was proof of how much she didn't have him.

"Do you want have a seat?" He asks her, motioning to the empty chair in front of him.

"I don't know. Do you want me to?" She asks him, tired of this charade by this point. Tired of acting like everything was oh so normal.

"What do you mean?" He asks a look of puzzlement on his face.

"I mean how long do you think we can keep doing this?" She asks sighing, taking up on his empty gesture and sitting down anyway. "Pretend like we're fine when we're not."

She sees a flash of something cross his eyes, his expression doesn't waver though.

"You don't think I've noticed the way you've pulled away from me these past weeks." She asks him. "The way you can't say five sentences to me without watching every word that comes out of your mouth. You don't even look me in the eye anymore Peter. You're effectively acting like I don't exist."

"God Olivia… that's not." He shakes his head. "That's not what I am trying to do."

"Then what is it?" She asks him, hating the longing in her voice. But she's too tired of doing this, too needy from being denied his familiar gaze and smile.

"I mean is it so terrible for you to be in the same room as me? Is it because I remind you of _her _or that I remind you of what you lost, what you had with her …"

"Stop it please." He interjects before she can voice her demons. The thoughts that have been making her sick to the stomach since the day she found out the truth.

"Olivia…this has nothing to do with her." He says forcefully. "Believe me it has absolutely nothing to do with her."

He closes his eyes for a brief second and then looks at her, really looks at her like he hasn't in very long. "You seem to be so uncomfortable around me nowadays… I just thought I'd give you your space you know. I don't want to be the reason why you feel unnerved in your own skin. And... I am not sure about what you want from me anymore, in terms of the place I have in your life that is."

He shrugs sadly. "I am not even sure I have a place anymore… and that's fine if that's what you want. It's your decision. I just… I can't be your friend if you don't really want me to."

"That's not what I want." She says without even the slightest bit of hesitation, feeling herself die inside as every one of his words swirls in her consciousness.

How she could so consistently wrong about this man, she wonders. How could they both be so wrong at understanding each other, when they knew each other better than anyone else in the whole world?

He hasn't given up on her after all; he just thinks she's given up on him.

They're both idiots… really.

It's taking all her willpower to not push the table between them and launch herself into his embrace, kiss him senseless till she forgets her own name, feel his lips against hers and know that he was hers and hers alone.

But she simply grabs for his hand, feeling instantly better at the feel of his skin under hers.

His eyes flying in surprise at the contact, but he doesn't pull away.

"Peter you will always have a place in my life. No matter what happens between us." She tells him.

_Or doesn't happen_. She thinks to herself, refraining from voicing it out loud because it's too pessimistic an outlook even for her.

But it's the truth. She's always felt it with him, since the moment they met. Their lives were inexplicably connected. Every additional bond they forged making it that much stronger.

Only the roles kept changing, expanding.

"You're right about us you know. We're both good at keeping people at arm's length." She says then, thinking about the conversation they'd had that night when she'd almost lost him.

"But for some strange reason that's now how we are with each other. It's never been that way. So let's not start now." She looks at him hopefully. "I don't want you to feel like you have to distance yourself from me. That's the last thing I want. I want you to be my partner again and I need you to be my friend." She tells him without uncertainty.

_I need you._ She really means. _I need to see you every morning and see that look in your eyes and know that I am important to you._ She thinks.

She looks down to where their hands are still joined and meets his eyes, which is reflecting a thousand different emotions at his point.

She reluctantly lets go, feeling the emptiness in her heart at the loss of contact, of the warmth of his fingers.

But he's smiling at her and she doesn't feel all alone anymore. The bar doesn't feel like a place she can hide in before she's forced to go home.

It's a zone of comfort, of familiarity.

Just like he was all that to her.

"In that case…" His grin turns carefree, unfettered for the first time in so long. "I'll get us another round of drinks." He says getting up from his seat; he leans closer to her, laying a hand on her shoulder. "You better not be thinking about driving though. Unless of course you have your siren with you."

She laughs, as he walks away.

There was hope for them. She knows it.


	29. Chapter 29

Both Peter and Olivia have seen more bloodshed and death than most people will see in several lifetimes.

They have watched people being killed, have killed people themselves, have endured great pain and torture more than once.

But even their lengthy immersion in violence doesn't prepare them for the mind numbing fear that assaults their senses when a gunshot sounds off and Etta falls to the ground.

Before he sees he hears…Olivia's terrified scream.

He's never actually heard her scream before. He turns around to make her out through the smoke on the street, a blurry image of her running towards something.

He follows her gaze to the figure on the ground and his blood turns to ice. He charges towards her, to where she is knelt down on the street, leaning over the crumpled heap that is their daughter, turning her over.

He collapses on his knees next to her, trying not to let the fear overwhelm him as he sees the quickly growing, sickly patch of red soaking through her shirt.

"Etta…" Olivia almost chokes, bringing her hand to her daughter's cheek.

Her eyes are still open. They looked stunned, focusing on the two people in front of her, the brilliant blues fading with each passing second.

"Oh God." Olivia exclaims, looking at him. "Peter do something." She yells at him hysterically. "Please."

He's too frozen to speak. But he finds it within himself to act. He lifts his daughter into his arms and they're running the next minute towards the station wagon, amidst the firing pattern that continues.

"We have to take her to the lab…" He tells Olivia as he lays Etta down on the back seat and climbs in after her.

"As fast as we can."

Olivia nods, getting into the driver's seat, even though she looks more scared than he's ever seen her.

She turns to him, distress writ large on her face.

"Peter…" She says her voice nothing but anguish. "Peter… what if…"

"It's going to be fine Liv." He says shakily. "Please just… get us out of here as soon as possible."

Olivia's starting the car in the next minute and he quickly diverts his attention to his daughter, pushing up her shirt to get a closer look at her bullet wound from which a steady trickle of blood is leaking out.

It's on his hands in a matter of seconds. His daughter's blood coating his fingers. He swallows the bile rising in his throat.

"Dad…" he hears her call out to him, her voice pained, barely above a whisper.

"It's fine honey, you're gonna be okay." He tells her squeezing her hand, trying not to let the dread consume him. Her eyes are already half closed at this point and she's white as a sheet.

He needs to be strong, needs to keep himself collected if he's going to help her.

"Sweetheart look at me." He slaps her cheeks gently; grimacing at the way the blood on his hands stains her face, nudging her, terrified that if she slipped into unconsciousness, they wouldn't be able to wake her.

"You have to look at me please." He pleads with her, almost sobbing in relief when she weakly opens her eyes at him.

"You have to stay awake sweetheart…stay with me. No matter what. Can you do that for me…please?" He asks her desperately.

She nods almost imperceptibly.

"Good. Just keep talking to me and we'll get through this together, okay?" He nods, managing a smile despite his insides having coiled into a knot of pure terror. "I am going to put pressure on the wound, to stop the bleeding." He tells her, stripping his jacket off and knotting the garment into a lump. "It's going to hurt a bit."

"You mean more than getting shot?" She says in a feeble voice.

"And she makes a joke…" Peter laughs, knowing how pathetic he sounds. "Now I know you're going to be fine." He uses the makeshift bandage to press down hard on her wound, feeling absolutely wretched when she yells loudly in pain.

"That hurt a lot." She says through clenched teeth as he repeats the action, some of the spark returning to her eyes. "Liar."

"I know, I know…I am sorry." He tells her.

"Reminds me…" She exhales audibly, trying to find a pattern, to breathe through the pain. "Reminds me of the time I got shots. You said…you said I had to be brave and that you'd buy me ice-cream afterwards. I wanted a pony..."

He nods, the memory assaulting him like it was yesterday. "Tell you what honey; I'll buy you a fucking pony if you'll be brave for me again. Yeah?"

She laughs at that. "Deal… if you'll do the same." She says, looking at him like she can see right through him; see every fear that is coursing through his veins like acid.

"Peter how is she doing?" He hears Olivia's worried voice from the front as she swerves around the corner throwing him off his balance for a second. He grabs the seat to steady himself and steals a look at his wife in the rearview mirror, seeing the completely petrified look on her face.

"She's okay." Etta says before he can say anything. "You drive like a maniac mom." She looks at Peter trying to give him a smile, thought she doesn't quite manage it.

"If I die…at least … should be from the bullet and not because my mom crashed the car trying to save me."

"You're not going to die." He snaps harshly at her, taking in the sickly pallor that was setting into her face. He looks down at his jacket pressed against her wound, which is almost soaked completely, trying hard not to panic.

"Jesus….lighten up would you." She says, grimacing once again in pain as he pushes down on her injury. "It's a joke."

"Try telling it to me again when blood is not gushing out of your body. Maybe I'll find it funny then." He says tonelessly, as he takes her wrist with one hand keeping the pressure on her wound with the other, and monitors her weakening pulse.

"You can dish it out but you can't take it can you?" She smiles softly at him, struggling to keep her eyes open at this point. "By the way… could you not get blood all over my jacket?"

"Yeah well, you got blood all over my jacket." He says shaking his head at her incredulously, knowing she was simply trying to distract him.

Something he's really grateful for given how terrified he is, how close he is to completely coming apart.

He rolls his eyes at her. "Maybe you can go shopping with your mom and get a new jacket when we get rid of these bald headed bastards. Though I have to warn you, she likes to shop at the everything is black sometimes also grey store."

She manages a smile at that, nodding, not talking for a few seconds before she turns to him her eyes now besieged with a different pain, a single tear making its way down her bloody cheek. "You know, I wanted to tell you…just in case..."

"You can tell me later." He says cutting her off, bringing his hand to wipe away the tears. "Liv, how much longer?" He asks his wife in a frantic voice.

"Just a few more minutes." She tells him. "Etta…just hang in there baby. We're going to make it through this okay." She tells their daughter, who is still looking at him achingly.

"Daddy please…" She shakes her head at him, looking at him with an imploring gaze. "You have to know..."

"I already know. We don't have to do this right now. I am not going to let anything happen to you." He says in a pleading voice, begging her not to do this to him.

Not now, when he was barely hanging on by a thread.

"I love you." She tells him ignoring his protests, decimating him into million pieces with those words. "I love you both so much." She says forcefully, even though her voice is just a whisper at this point. "And I am really glad you're here with me…" She says to him, her eyelids closing.

"No, no, no… sweetheart you have to stay awake. Please." He shakes her again, but she doesn't quite stir.

"It's fine dad… just tired…" She says reaching for his hand. "Don't leave me okay."

"Dammit Etta, don't do this to me." He shouts frantically at her. "Not now."

"Etta…"

* * *

"Thankfully there doesn't seem to be too much internal damage. But she's lost far too much blood." Walter tells them in a worried voice, as he finishes suturing the wound after having extracting the bullet.

"We'll need to do a transfusion, as soon as possible." Peter says letting go of the breath he'd been holding since the time they brought her into the lab and Walter began to work at removing the bullet. He pulls up his shirt sleeve. "Her blood type's the same as mine. A positive."

"She'll be fine won't she Walter?" Olivia asks anxiously. She was sitting next to Etta who was laid out on Walter's old bed, her hand firmly clasping her daughter's.

Walter looks at her hopeful face, his own expression rather defeated and then turns to Peter without answering, laying a hand on his shoulder. "You did an excellent job of controlling the bleeding son; she would have died within minutes if you hadn't. Astrid and I will set up for the transfusion."

"I'll help..."

"Stay…" His father shakes his head at him. "Stay with her." He says, his gaze drifting towards Olivia, before walking away.

He looks at his wife, who was using one of the clean bandages to gently wipe away the dried blood on their daughter's tear streaked cheeks.

Wordlessly he sits next to her, letting himself truly confront for the first time the reality of what had happened.

"Thank you." She says softly not looking at him, as she pushes away the errant locks of blond locks from Etta's face.

"What for?"

"For being so brave and knowing what to do." She says, turning to him with an immeasurable gratitude in her expression.

"You have no idea how scared I was." He says shaking his head, knowing he didn't deserve this. "I didn't even know what I was doing."

"Yes you did. The way you handled this, the way you kept talking to her. It must have been so hard for you, but you kept at it." Olivia says, a tear spilling from her eye, as she closes them shut in pain. " If it weren't for you…"

"Peter …if something happens to her….I swear I'll die."

"Don't say that Liv." He tells her shakily, pulling her into his embrace. "We have to be strong here."

"I can't…" She buries her face against his chest, gripping at his shirt with her hands, breaking down in a way he's never seen her do before. "I can't do this… not with her."

"I can't lose her."

* * *

The night is spent in a silent vigil as they sit next to their daughter, holding onto each other, simply watching, and counting every breath she takes, noting with relief the faint rise and fall of her chest.

"We tried so hard to protect her." Olivia says, her head resting against his shoulder, as the rays of the morning sun begin to pour into the lab. "We gave her up to keep her safe, deprived her of her family, forced her to grow up without parents and yet … it didn't matter. None of it did. You'd think the least we would have gotten in return for everything we went through was for her to be okay." She says in a subdued voice. "For her to be unharmed, to not be fighting for her life right now."

"She's going to make it Liv." He says dropping a kiss on her head. "The transfusion's taking well and her vitals are stable. She's strong and she'll survive this."

"And what about the next time? And the time after that?" She asks looking up at him, her gaze empty and hopeless. "How many times will she get hurt and injured and find herself in danger before her luck runs out."

"Liv…"

"How many more times Peter?" She repeats with a quiet anger in her tone. "Why do we keep fighting for this world when all it does is break our hearts again and again? I've lost everybody who ever meant anything to me to battles I didn't start, to fights that weren't mine to begin with, and yet I kept fighting because I thought it was the right thing to do and what do I have to show for it? Twenty years of my life gone, twenty years in which my daughter had to grow up in this horrifying world without knowing her parents…didn't get to see her become this beautiful woman, didn't get to be there for her all those times when she must have needed her mother… I failed my child all these years and I failed her today."

"Liv sweetheart, torturing yourself like this isn't going to help her." Peter says.

"You're right. It won't." She nods. "You know what would have helped her? If we hadn't been so selfish and given her up when she was born. Given her a shot at a normal life with a family who would have been there for her, taken care of her the way she deserved."

"Liv..."

"I never deserved her." She shakes her head. "I should have known, everything I touch breaks. And now my baby… she has to pay the price for my selfishness."

"Stop this." Peter says firmly, putting his hands on her face as he tilts her to her gaze. "I won't let you blame yourself for something that's not your fault. You didn't do this to her. You didn't pull the trigger that released the bullet that hit her. That was some other son of a bitch and when I find him, he's going to wish he was dead." He says his eyes smoldering with anger.

"You're not the one responsible for this Liv. And don't you dare say you don't deserve to be her mother. There are a lot of things you never deserved to have happened to you. You didn't deserve to be abused by your stepfather, you didn't deserve to be experimented on, and you sure as hell didn't deserve to be used as a pawn in someone else's mad quest for power. There are many things you never deserved Olivia, but our daughter is not one of them."

"Peter..."

"No… you listen to me." He says forcefully. "You were and are the best parent she could have ever hoped for, because you went through hell and beyond to do what was right for her, even when I didn't have the courage to do it myself. You're her mother Liv; you have every right to love your child. If anybody does its you. That's not selfishness sweetheart. Not even close…"

She nods weakly, grateful for his words, even if not entirely convinced by them.

"Oh God Peter…" She collapses against his chest, weakly. "I don't know how much longer I can do this. If this world takes her away from me… I swear I'll destroy it myself this time."

"I know honey." He nods, knowing exactly how she feels. "But we're going to win, you'll see. We're going to make this world safe for her again. We're going to make it a place she deserves to live in."

"You guys are not talking about me are you?" He hears Etta's faint voice and turns to her direction, to see her looking at them with partially open eyes. "Because I am right here and that's just rude."

"Oh…" Olivia exclaims as she looks at her with relief, not even attempting to hide her tears bringing a hand to her cheek. "Oh thank god. Are you okay baby? Are you in pain?"

"I am fine mom." She smiles faintly at her, allowing Olivia to assess her for a few seconds before speaking again. "I am more than fine actually. I don't know what Walter's hit me up with but it's like I am floating in space right now."

"How are you feeling?" Peter asks, finding his voice and trying hard not to give into his own tears of relief pricking at his eyelids, bringing his hand to squeeze hers gently.

"Like I got shot." She shrugs, wincing immediately as her muscles protest the movement.

"You had us scared there for a while sweetheart." He smiles at her. "Don't ever pull crap on us like that again or I am going to have to ground you."

"I'd like to see you try…" She rolls her eyes at him, her eyelids already drooping from the effort. "So since I lived and all do I get my pony?" She asks sleepily.

Peter simply laughs at that, bending down to kiss her forehead. "Yes, you get a pony; I'll steal one if I have to. I am going to get Walter and let him have a look at you." He says squeezing Olivia's shoulder before he leaves the room.

"Mom…" Etta calls out, her eyes now closed.

"Yeah honey…" Olivia asks, clasping her hand tightly.

"For what it's worth… I am really glad you didn't give me up. I am glad… you're my mother."

" Me too..." Olivia nods kissing the hand she was holding.

" Me too..."


	30. Chapter 30

**Author's note: When I started with this series, it was meant to be an outlet for some plausible fictitious scenarios that keep running through my head which I thought would fit into the Fringe canon universe.**

**Clearly it has taken a life of its own and I find myself going off-cannon quite a bit, exploring deeper the mythologies I have built within this fic.**

**Aahh is there anything worse than a writer's vanity? I am beginning to fan fiction my fan fiction.**

**While that's not necessarily a bad thing, I do feel the series has strayed from its original premise at times, especially with this update therefore qualifying it for some kind of explanation on my behalf.**

**I am tempted to branch these not so canon write-ups off into another series but I feel the umbrella of this fic still works as I had always intended for this to be a vague category in which to place different narrative styles and stories on Fringe as you might have gleaned from the varying writing styles from chapter to chapter whether it be dialogue or inner voice or third person narrative.**

**This is not to say it will necessarily take a completely different direction henceforth but only that more digressions that explore some of these ideas might be in the pipeline. I am not entirely sure if you're willing to ride along with that change in tide, but here's hoping…**

**I appreciate all the reviews and critiques. I really do. Thank you for reading and engaging with my work.**

* * *

At a casual glance, Etta has the most perfect life anyone could possibly have in a dystopia overrun by observers.

Before she's ten, she has a trust fund that exceeds the GDP of many small countries; a top-notch security detail that would rival any world leader's, when nations had things like governments and such that is, an entire penthouse apartment run by a staff that is dedicated to catering to her every whim and fancy.

She can have someone make her a chocolate fudge sundae at 2:00 in the morning if she wants…

Every material thing that money can buy, every privilege that influence can get is hers for the asking

Closets full of clothes and shoes, fancy playthings and accessories.

Books that people couldn't read anymore, museums that the general public weren't allowed to visit anymore, art work that no one could view anymore.

Nina opens every door for her, gives her everything she asks and doesn't ask for.

After all regimes come and go but the rich always thrive…

And to the average person she seemingly thrives, in the lap of boundless privilege.

But it doesn't make up for the loving arms of a parent.

It doesn't make up for the feeling of living with a part of yourself missing.

She sees them from behind the tinted glass windows of her Mercedes… orphan children on street corners, back alleys, huddling together, gravitating towards each other because they had no one else.

There were so many of them, survivors of the purge, of loyalist ambushes, of simply bad circumstances, sometimes no older than five or six, all alone in a world that doesn't care about them.

And sometimes, she can't help herself; she'll roll down the windows to see them better, ignoring the look of mixed loathing and longing that come her way, the anger and the yearning for her life on the other side of the glass shining in their desperate, lightless eyes.

_Don't hate me._ She wants to say to them. _Can't you see? I am not all that different from you._

One time, a boy hurls a jagged stone at her, hitting her on the forehead and causing her to bleed.

For a second their eyes meet. She recoils from his expression. The look of satisfaction combined with an unadulterated hatred.

She doesn't even know him she thinks, how could he possibly hate her so much.

She barely registers the pain or the trickle of blood oozing down her face, trying to drown out Nina's worried exclamations next to her, watching in horror as a Loyalist guard stationed at that corner starts hitting the boy, pushing him to the ground and kicking him.

"No…Make him stop." She cries out. "Please." She screams, but her voice is already being drowned out by the glass being rolled up, as the car speeds away.

"It's okay honey." Nina's holding her, restraining her from trying to get out of the car as she bursts into tears. "There's nothing we can do." She says in a sad dejected voice.

* * *

"What are you doing honey?" Nina asks her as she views the pile of bedding on the floor of Etta's room. Her bed has been stripped of all its covers.

"I am going to take these to the kids." She says in an obvious tone.

"What kids?"

"The ones at the street corner, on my way to school." She says, trying with her little hands to roll the blankets and sheets on the floor into a haphazard bundle.

"And what exactly would they do with your blankets?" Nina asks curiously crouching down next to her.

"It's cold outside." She shrugs, as if it were that simple. "They'll be warm if they have my blankets. I am going to give them my coats too." She says looking at her earnestly, completely convinced of the soundness of her plan.

"Etta…" Nina says cautiously, unable to help a smile at her gesture. "You can't just give them your things."

"Why not? I have lots of things?"

"I know you do." She nods smiling, taking her hand. "But…this doesn't really help them honey. There are just too many of them. And, if the loyalists see them with your things, they'll simply be beaten up because they'll think the kids stole it from somewhere. We don't want to get them into more trouble do we? "

"But they're cold…" Etta says anxiously, her lower lip quivering a little bit. "And they're so hungry all the time. I can feel them." She says with a pained expression.

"Oh honey." Nina shakes her head sadly at the little girl. "We spoke about this remember. You're not supposed to use your abilities with strangers."

"But I can't help it." She shakes her head unhappily.

"When I am near them, it makes me really sad and then I feel them. They're always so scared and lonely, and I don't like it at all."

"I am sorry honey." Nina says bringing up her good hand to rest on her cheek affectionately. "I am sorry you have to go through this. But you have to try and control yourself okay. If you let yourself feel what these kids go through all the time, you're going to be overwhelmed and that's not good for you. I don't want to see you suffer like this."

"But why is it okay for them to suffer?" She asks not understanding.

"They didn't do anything wrong."

"No they didn't." Nina nods in agreement.

"They just weren't lucky enough I guess."

"It's not fair." She says angrily.

_None of it was…_

* * *

She never understands the way the other kids in her prep school act. How they get obsessed with shallow and passing fancies and never seem to worry about much else.

For them the world is the same bubble of privilege it's always been.

But Etta feels too much to see the world that way.

She feels the pain and suffering of others, the perpetual fear that people live in every day. Even as she tries and protects herself, it gets to her at times, penetrates her bubble and forces her to look beyond the façade of perfection that her life is.

The kids at the street corner grow in numbers over the years and every day, for the five minutes her car halts at the signal on the way to school, their misery assaults her senses violently, leaving her emotionally wrung.

And even after she learns to efficiently control her abilities, she does nothing to stop it.

When she's fourteen, she begins sneaking out of the apartment. She's learnt to beat her security detail by now, knows how to hack into camera feeds and trick the guards who watch the monitors in the apartment 24 hours a day with a loop.

One night she stands at the deserted corner under the yellow glow of the streetlight, knowing she really shouldn't be out after curfew. Especially in a place like this.

But she's not scared. She's never been afraid of much.

She makes her way into the dark alley, going deeper and deeper, looking around for a sign of life, her eyes taking in the darkness of the night, the strangely exhilarating feeling of being all alone, on her own. Danger is all around and she feels drawn towards it. It's like something deep within her soul responds to this feeling.

The next minute she's being roughly pushed against the wall, and before she can blink, a knife is being thrust at her neck.

She stares at the boy holding the weapon; recognizes the look on his face. The same boy from so many years ago who had hurled that stone at her, given her a scar that took months to fade.

In the moonlight, she sees his eyes gleam with anticipation, with greed. He looks completely confident pointing that knife at her, but she doesn't miss the way his hand trembles slightly.

"Handover whatever you've got." He says harshly, pushing her against the wall a little more.

"I haven't got anything." She says, looking at him unafraid. "You can search me but you won't find anything."

"Are you stupid? Do you want to die?" He snarls at her, twisting her wrist painfully as if to prove a point.

"No I am not stupid." She shakes her head, not fighting his grip. "I am crazy smart actually… and we all die. From the day we're born, we're dying." She says calmly, observing the way his face changes from hostile to surprised, which she uses to her advantage to free her hand from his grasp.

"You're that rich girl from the car aren't you? The one who keeps staring at us every day." He says jeeringly, even as he moves the knife away just a little bit. "What are you doing here? Lost your way to your mansion princess?"

She doesn't say anything. Staring back at him as he glares at her.

"What's this?" He says then, using the knife to lift her necklace from under her shirt.

"Don't touch that." She pulls it back immediately, clasping it with her hand. She catches him unaware by shoving him away with her other hand.

He looks at her in shock and then smiles grimly at her. "Too bad princess. Finders keepers. Hand it over and I'll let you run back to your mommy and daddy."

"No." She shakes her head at him. "And you better move away from me if you don't want to get hurt."

He smiles at her humorlessly. "What are you going to do?"

"You don't know what I can do and you don't want to know." She tells him evenly, folding her arms across her chest. "And I am not scared of you no matter how long you hold that knife at me."

"You should be." He says menacingly though she can detect the note of uncertainty in his voice.

"Why would I?" She shrugs. "You're just a kid."

"My name's Etta. What's yours?" She asks him then, her voice a little softer.

"What's my?"

"Name. You have one don't you?"

"Why would I tell you if I did? So that you can report me to the loyalists?"

"No… so that I can know what to call you if I see you the next time."

"Are you crazy or something?" The boy laughs for the first time, a genuine mirth in his voice, as he lowers his knife, shaking his head at her.

"Go home princess and don't make the mistake of coming here again." He turns around and walks away into the alley.

* * *

A week later, she goes deeper into the alley, farther away from the city lights.

"Didn't I tell you to stay away?" He asks her in an annoyed voice as she stands shuffling her shoes at a slight distance from where he's sitting with a couple more younger kids, huddled around a fire.

"You did. I didn't listen." She tells him, standing there, hands in her jacket as he turns to look at her.

She gives him a small smile, one that he doesn't return.

"What are you doing here princess?" He asks tersely, walking up to her, his eyes impatient.

"It's Etta…" She says, sighing with irritation herself.

"I don't fucking care if it's Abigail…" He scoffs at her. "What are you doing here?"

She flinches at the expletive, never having been addressed in such a manner by anybody. "I … don't know. I guess… I just wanted to see…" She fumbles with the words.

"What the hell is the matter with you?" He asks angry now. "What? Your fancy life too boring that you gotta come see the slum kids for entertainment? Do we look like we're putting on a fucking show for you?"

She recoils at his words, stumbling back a little. "That's not what I…"

"You think this is fun don't you?" He asks snarling at her. "Whatcha do? Sneak out of your mansion to come here. Thought you'd have a great story to tell your other bratty friends tomorrow?" He says venomously.

Her own eyes are blazing with anger now. "I brought this." She takes out a brown package from her jacket, shoving into his hands. "It's medicine for her." She points in the direction of the little girl sitting by the fire. "I saw her coughing yesterday and the day before. She looks really ill."

"Where did you get this?" He says ripping the packet open, shaking the bottles of pills and the syrup with curiosity.

"My cousin is a medical student." She says tonelessly. "Make sure she takes one every four hours and a capful of the syrup every couple of hours. It should help with the coughing." She tells him, turning around the next minute and walking as fast as she can.

"Hey wait…" He hears her calling after her. "Wait up."

She turns around to look at him, lips pursed. "What is it? Any more rich girl insults you forgot to make? I have a busy life to get back to you know, at my mansion with my bratty friends."

"It's Ty." He tells her

She raises her eyebrows at him in question.

"My name." He shrugs.

"Why are you telling me?" She asks him in an even tone.

"So you'll know what to call me if you see me the next time…princess." He smiles at her, before walking away.

* * *

"So what's school like? Do you read a lot of books and stuff?" Ty asks her, wolfing down the cheese burger she's brought for him in large bites.

They're sitting on the rooftop of an abandoned building, from where you could see out into the expanse of the city, ablaze in the vestiges of an orange sunset, in that time before day and night.

"Not as many as I'd like to. Most of them are pretty dumb. Don't tell you anything worthwhile at all. " She shrugs. "I learn a lot more on my own actually. Nina… that's my aunt, she has this huge library and she gets me any book I want."

"Like story books?" He asks his eyes perking with interest.

"Yeah lots of story books." She nods. "But also other kinds of serious books… on science, history and philosophy and art… all kinds of stuff."

"And you read all of these?" He asks her, looking at her skeptically.

"Yeah. All the time." She smiles. "I love science… Right now I am reading this book called _Psycho-Organic Methods_.My grandpa wrote it. He was a brilliant scientist." She adds with a hint of pride.

"So you must be pretty smart huh?" He asks her, chewing thoughtfully.

"Smart enough I guess." She shrugs, not getting into the details.

"What about your parents? What do they do?" He asks her absently, too busy reaching for the packet of curly fries from the paper bag to notice her reaction.

"I don't know." She says trying to keep her voice steady. "I lost them when I was little."

She hopes he won't ask her anything else about that matter. He doesn't.

"Sorry about that." He says his voice gentler than before.

"It's fine." She shakes her head and then grabs her backpack, reaching for something she knew she had in there along with her school books. She pulls out a green leather bound book.

"Here, you can have this." She hands it to him. "Wipe your hands first." She pulls away from his extended hand. He rolls his eyes at her, but rubs his hands on his pants and then takes the book from her.

"_The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn_." He reads the title haltingly, slowly, like someone who wasn't used to the act.

"I think you'll like it." She tells him. "It's about a boy who runs away and has a lot of exciting adventures."

He smiles at her with an innocence she has never seen in him before, as he opens the book, fingering the pages delicately.

"Who's Peter Bishop?" He asks looking at the cover page curiously.

She immediately leans closer to look at the name, tracing the sharp and neat handwriting at the top of the cover page with her fingers, her eyes travelling down to the inscription on the other side.

_For my Etta,_

_When you're ready to embark on life's great adventures…hope this'll inspire you. Just like you inspire me every day_

_Love_

_Dad _

_P.S—Please don't ever think about running away from home._

"It's my dad." She tells him, smiling at the inscription, as she runs her hand through the slightly faded blue ink.

"You should keep it then." He says holding it towards her. "It's important to you right?"

"No take it." She shakes her head. "I've read it a million times."

"But it's a gift. He even wrote your name on it." He points out.

"He wrote my name on every book he ever bought." She tells him, smiling a little. "I have hundreds of them, all with inscriptions addressed to me."

"Inscription?"

"Yeah you know, like a message…. when people gift somebody a book they usually write something in it, a special note for that person. I guess he wanted me to have them someday." She tells him, noting the way his eyes travelled over the object in question with barely concealed delight.

"Keep it. I don't think he'd mind at all."

"Thanks… He sounds nice… your dad…I never knew my old man." Ty tells her, looking at the book again.

"My mom died when I was eight. Been on my own since…"

"I've been on my own too you know… for a long time…" She says.

"Yeah our lives are the same princess..." He mocks her, not unkindly though.

"More than you think." She says quietly, as she checks her watch. "I have to go now. El said she'd swing by tomorrow and take a look at some of the younger kids. Do some checkups and stuff."

"Maybe you can come with her?" He asks her lightly. "I was going to run some stuff underground. You wanna see the place where it happens? Useful stuff to know. Never know when you might need the info. "

"Sounds awesome." She laughs, grabbing her backpack as she gets up. "But I have a school dance and I promised this boy in my class I'd go with him."

"A boy?" He asks not looking at her, but staring at the book in his lap. "Like a date?"

"Hmm I guess you could call it that." She shrugs, smiling at him. "I'll get you some more books the next time I come by okay. You can tell me how you liked this one."

"Yeah..." He nods, his own smile dulling a little bit.

* * *

"I've forgotten how nice it is out here. I don't think I've come up here since college started." Etta says, pulling herself up on the hood of the broken down car a little more, drawing her knees closer to take in the sight before her.

"You can see the entire city from up here. It looks so peaceful."

"It's a junkyard princess. Don't get all sappy about rusty metal." Ty shakes his head at her, as he vets a pile of car parts.

"What's gotten into you?" Etta asks lying back on the hood. "You're all extra grumpy today."

"Nothing's gotten into me okay. I just wanna get something worthwhile in the fucking pile of crap which I can hawk or sell and get out of here. Make some dough maybe…things you don't have to care about, never mind you."

"Great… we're back to that huh?" She says dryly, sliding off the hood. "If you're going to spend all night telling me how spoilt you think I am, I think I'll just go."

"Yeah… why don't you do that? Run back to your boyfriend." He scowls at her. "Why are you even here anyway? Shouldn't you be busy making out with him?"

"I'd be gladly doing that…" She tells him unfazed by the hostility. "But he has a test tomorrow morning and needed to study. Actually I needed to study as well. But I wanted to see you, so I came. Clearly it's been a waste of my time."

"Yeah it is. You have all this important shit to do right?" He says smirking. "You don't have time to be running around with the street kid. It was fun before, but now you're all grown up and shit… "

"What are you talking about?" She asks in a tired voice, not understanding why he was being this cold towards her the past few times she'd come to visit him. "And what's on your face?" She asks reaching closer to peer at him, inhaling sharply when she sees the big purple gash on his forehead.

"Don't touch me." He pulls away from her hand, flinching. "Did I say you could touch me?" He growls at her.

She drops her hand but doesn't stop staring at him. "What happened Ty? Who did this to you?"

"Life did this to me Princess." He smirks at her, his lips curved in a tight smile. "Ever got a shiner like this one? Guess not huh. You're the one who likes to pretend all the time that we're the same right. This is what it's like to be me. Shit happens and you get beaten up. So get that sad look of your face. I don't need your fucking pity. "

"You know what Ty, screw you." She tells him, turning around, running away as fast as her legs will take her.

* * *

"You need to have your head examined Etta. What you're talking about is borderline insane… I mean time displacement really? And what you're proposing is conjecture at best…." He tells her as they make their way through the crowded hallway.

"Whatever. You know I am right about this. Just like I was right about everything else. You just won't admit it." She says confidently.

"Not about this. This goes completely against the laws of physics."

"Yeah, look around Ryan. We're ruled by a bunch of bald men who time travelled from the future." She turns to him, giving him an obvious look, smiling when she sees a brief discomfort pass through his face. "The laws of physics are not as infallible as you think."

"In public remember." He says through clenched teeth, glaring at her, before smiling. "You'll get us killed one day I swear."

"Why is everybody so scared all the time?" She shrugs, letting him take her hand as they walk out of the building. "It's like they're afraid to breathe."

"Well can you blame them?" He turns her around, looking at her fondly. "Except you. You're never scared of anything Etta." He says with mild incredulity.

"Nothing in life is to be feared, it is only to be understood." She says giving him a grin. "Know who said that?"

"Marie Curie." He nods, rolling his eyes. "Give me some credit. I may not be a genius but I know some stuff."

"Really now?" She teases him. "Like the laws of physics?"

"Very funny." He grins at her, pulling her close. "So, I was thinking. We could get together tonight and study for the midterms."

"Is that what the kids call it nowadays?" She cocks an eyebrow at him.

"You don't trust my motives?"

"I don't trust you." She says without missing a beat. "And we can't study tonight…" She air quotes. "We have that meeting remember?" She says meaningfully, her voice trailing off.

"Do we have to go? We can always go to the next one." He says flippantly.

"It's not a social club Ryan." She shakes her head at him, pulling away from his embrace. "This is about more important things than the midterm."

"Right...Etta, hopeful leader of the renegades who will lead us into the better world. How could I forget?" He gives her a smile which falters when he encounters her cold stare. "Oh come on. It's a joke."

"I don't think it's very funny." She tells him. "And you don't have to come if you don't want to."

"Hey wait…" He follows her, taking her arm. "I am sorry. I forget how much this stuff means to you."

" It should mean something to you too." She tells him. "This is about making this world a better place. To not accept ours fate and just live with it."

"You really think that's possible Etta?" He says in a somewhat resigned voice.

"I think we can do anything we want…if we have hope and imagination." She says firmly, shrugging at the look of disbelief on his face.

"You're crazy you know that sweetheart?" He says smiling at her, before pulling her into a kiss.

"I know…" She whispers against his lips. "And don't call me sweetheart. Nobody is allowed to call me that." She tells him gently but decisively.

"Duly noted miss… can we get lunch now? I am starving." He says taking her hand again, as they make their way down the stairs.

"You're always starving, how much food can one person possibly…" She stops when she sees him standing there awkwardly, looking out of place in the milieu of coeds, with that ratty beanie over his head, his dirty rundown sneakers shuffling the ground.

"Actually why don't you go on ahead. I'll meet you in five." She tells Ryan, letting go of his hand.

"Okay." He shrugs, without asking for an explanation and leaves quickly, running almost, no doubt to avoid the lunch hour rush.

"What are you doing here?" She asks him without looking at him, arms folded across her chest defensively.

"What you're the only one who's allowed to visit?" He asks her with a slight smirk.

She doesn't say anything at that, pursing her lips and staring at the ground.

"So how come you don't come by anymore?" He asks casually, shoving his hands into his pockets.

"I've been busy." She shrugs. "And when I am free, I try spending time with people who are actually happy to see me."

"Like him?" He says, not bothering to qualify who he was referring to, smirking again. "He seems pretty happy to see you."

"The feeling's mutual." She says plainly. "Anything else?"

He looks at her like he wants to say something more, but then shrugs. "Naah...I just came by to see if you were okay. You hadn't been around in so long… thought you were sick or something."

He turns around to leave.

"Ty…" She calls out to him.

"I'll come by some time." She says, fingering the strap of her backpack, giving him a hesitant smile.

He nods, giving her the slightest smile before walking away quickly.

* * *

"Lei tells me you've been using again." She says walking up to the boy sprawled out on the train tracks, staring at the night sky, a cigarette dangling from his fingers loosely.

"Did she now?" His voice is distant.

She lowers herself to the ground, sitting down cross legged next to him. "I thought you said you weren't going to do that shit anymore."

"I lied. I do that sometimes." He takes a purposeful drag of his stub before blowing out smoke, watching it listlessly as it dissolves into the night air.

"Ty, you promised." She says, her voice soft but firm.

"Sorry princess… did I hurt your poor little feelings?" He looks at her with a languid gaze, his pupils dilated from whatever combination of street drugs he had taken earlier. "Are you going to cry now?"

"Over you?" She scoffs. "You wish."

"Yeah... where would you find the time between painting your nails and polishing your pearls?" He says chuckling at his own joke.

"Are you done being a jerk?" She asks, her lips set in a thin line. "Or do you have a couple more shots to take. It's only been five minutes after all."

"If I am such a jerk, what are you doing here?" He asks her in a mocking tone, even as his expression conveys genuine curiosity. "Why do you keep coming back?"

"I don't know." She says honestly. "Maybe I am just odd that way."

"You care too much… about people who don't need it." He says, closing his eyes. "People who don't deserve it."

"Everybody deserves to be cared about Ty." She says looking at him. "You too."

He laughs for a few long seconds like it's the funniest thing he's ever heard.

"You know what your problem is princess?" He asks then, his voice still rife with humor.

"Why don't you tell me?" She asks dispassionately, as she turns to face him once again. "You obviously know me so well."

"Damn right I do." He nods, getting up shakily to sit next to her. "Since the day your car pulled over at the signal. I've been watching you. The way you keep looking at everybody around you…the way you look at me. See you have this strange idea that one of these days you'll save me… from all of this." He waves his hand around, coughing a little bit from the smoke stuck in his lungs. "You want to save me from my own fucking life…"

He laughs again, looking at the ground below as she stares at him in a stunned fashion. "You've been trying all these years and… it kills you that you can't fix me. Doesn't it?" He says in a knowing voice, looking at her intently.

She doesn't say anything, averting her gaze from his.

"And it's a shame too coz… except for that annoying habit of yours, I actually like you." He says smiling at her.

"Really, could have fooled me."

"You're the one fooling yourself princess. Thought you'd be smart enough to give up by now. I mean when are you going to realize that I was never your fucking problem?"

"I think I just did." She tells him resignedly. "You obviously want to ruin your life. Why should I bother right?"

"You shouldn't. I told you years ago not to." He shrugs, staring in front of him impassively.

"Yeah you did." She nods ignoring the pricking behind her eyelids, standing up, wiping the dust of her jeans. "Guess I never listened. That was stupid of me."

"Don't torture yourself princess. We're all stupid sometimes." He laughs and then gives her a sideways look with an expression of intensity she'd never seen before, his voice softer, almost pained.

There was longing screaming from every pore of his body…

"We all want things we can never have in a million years." He says to her.

She feels like she's had the wind knocked out of her as she stands frozen, locked in a gaze with him.

Wordlessly she turns around and moves away from him.

"Etta…" She hears him call out to her. She doesn't turn back but halts in her steps.

"I am sorry…" He says. His words hang for a brief few seconds in the space between them as she shuts her eyes tight, trying futilely to get the tears to stop.

"For hitting you with that stone."

"Have a nice rest of your life Ty." She says not bothering to look back at him as she walks away.

* * *

"Etta? What are you doing here?" Ryan asks, surprised when he unlocks his dorm room and walks in to find her sitting on his bed. "And why weren't you in class today? I tried calling you a dozen times. You missed the test. That's a third of our grade and there's no makeups." He says anxiously.

"Did you hear me? You better march into Meacham's office with an explanation ASAP and turn on those irresistible charms of yours while you're at it. Bat those baby blues a little; talk your way out of things like you always do. You'll fail this class otherwise." He jokes.

She doesn't say anything, bringing her knees closer to herself.

"Etta what's wrong?" He dumps his backpack on the desk and sits next to her, taking a closer look at her. "Have you been crying?" He asks gently, bringing a hand to her cheek, feeling the wetness there.

"You're right you know." She tells him in a flat voice. "We can't do anything about this world. We can't save it. It's broken and ruined Ryan. There's nothing we can do." She says in a furious whisper.

"Etta…" He pulls her into his embrace. " Don't say that. I don't know what changed overnight for you to believe that but I have faith in you." He tells her gently, then squeezing her hand. "You'll make a difference. You were born to."

"You don't know that." She shakes her head.

"Actually I do. Hope and imagination and all that remember? I filed that under Etta's epic speeches. Gotta have my soundbyte ready for when you're elected leader of the observer free world and I shamelessly court the TV cameras saying I used to date that girl in college."

"You're an idiot." She tells him, shoving him in the chest, even as she's grateful for his attempt at humor.

"And you're extraordinary." He tells her. "Not a lot of people have your courage. To risk your comfortable life for something you believe in. You can do anything you want. I know you can."

"I couldn't help him." She says then, her gaze faraway.

She had meant something else to him, in all these years. The reason for his resentment, for the anger that kept creeping up every now and then.

And she'd never recognized it.

"Who couldn't you help?" Ryan asks her gently.

"Nobody…" She shakes her head and then smiles at him. "So let's talk about how I am going to convince Meacham to give me a retake."

* * *

"Loyalists ambushed the whole place with low grade explosives. It's a complete carnage out here." Simon tells her grimly as he leads her into the aftermath of a bombing.

Her first week on the job and she's already seen more dead bodies than in all her life. She hasn't thrown up yet though and holds herself together rather impressively.

But Simon sees through her act.

"It gets better." He tells her. "You'll get used to it."

She doubts she'll ever get used to the sick feeling that sinks into her stomach when she's confronted with death, in all its rudeness and honesty.

"How do we ID the victims?" She asks, walking through the alley, trying not to grimace at the number of bodies that are strewn around.

"We don't." He tells her, as he fiddles with the flashlight. "Most of these vics are junkies off the street. You're never going to find anything that tells you who they are. We do a body count and put it in a report and push it along to the next department."

"So nobody cares about them?" She asks him, amazed at his apathy.

Is this what this job did to people, she wonders.

"Etta..." He sighs. "That's not what I meant. But we can't help these people. There's nothing we can do."

"Yeah now we can't. They're dead aren't they?" She shrugs, walking on, trying to make better sense of the things in her line of sight in the pale yellow glow of her flashlight, when she sees something that makes her freeze in her tracks.

She redirects the light, walking towards what she thinks is her mind playing tricks on her and crouches down to pick up the object.

It's miraculously undamaged, except for the heavy layer of dust and grime on it. She wipes off the dust, uncovering the deep green beneath and opens the leather covered jacket; her fears confirmed when she sees the familiar writing.

There's a second set of writing, etched in pencil, a crude scrawl at the bottom.

_09/10/2026- etta came to see me todey n she gave me this. Shes nice. prety eyes. i think I like her._

_ Ty_

"What is it? What did you find? Simon asks her from the other end.

She allows herself a single tear and then pockets the book in her jacket before he can see it.

"Etta, anything?" He asks her again.

"All clear." She says, wiping her cheeks hastily.

"Looks like nobody made it alive." He says somberly.

She nods, feeling the warmth of the book against her chest.

"Yeah, nobody to save."


	31. Chapter 31

"How about Sophie?"

"Pretty name, I like it." Peter nods and then chews his lip contemplatively. "Oh wait… I think I dated a girl named Sophie in high school. Nope. Can't do that one Liv."

"You know if we eliminated all the names of girls you dated or went out with… we're going to have very little choice left." She tells him.

"Hilarious." He rolls his eyes at her. "Honestly? What did I ever do in these four years that led you into thinking I was some Don Juan."

She simply smiles at him knowingly.

"What's your next suggestion?" He says pointedly even as his eyes twinkle with the humor.

"I don't have one. I am all out. You come up with something."

"I don't know. I've read that baby names book cover to cover and I can't think of a single one I like. Nothing seems right." He says with mild frustration.

"Well we better find something right. She's due in a month you know. I won't bring her into the world nameless." Olivia says firmly.

"She won't be really nameless." He points out. "Baby Girl Bishop makes a perfectly acceptable hospital bracelet. Make a great stage name if she wanted to be a wrangler at a Rodeo. " He shrugs, giving her a grin.

"Please tell me you have more hope for her future than that?" She sighs. "And who said anything about her being called Bishop."

"Nobody said anything at all." He nods in agreement. "If you want to give her your name that's great too. After all, we're not married and you are her mother. And considering my ID documentation is fradulent albeit with the complete approval of the FBI, technically you have complete legal rights over her. Fear not Ms. Dunham. The great state of Massachusetts is on your side. " He rattles off giving her a grin, which falters when he sees the frown on her face.

"Why do you say things like that?" She asks shaking her head, upset at his blasé demeanor. "Like it's all just some sort of transaction."

"I am not trying to make you feel bad Liv. I am just stating the facts." He says gently. "And I know you hate relinquishing even a little bit control over the important things in your life and nothing's more important to you than this baby. I just want you to know its okay with me if you want to take any steps to keep that control. Plus might be a good idea. You never know when somebody decides to snap me out a timeline right."

"Did you just take a crash course in saying all the wrong things to a pregnant woman?" She says angrily, even more incensed at his statement. "And enough with the foot rub." She pulls her foot away from his hand, tucking it back under the blanket. "I hate it break it to you Peter, but you really suck at giving massages..."

"What's wrong?" He looks perplexed.

"What's wrong is that one minute we're talking about baby names and the next minute you get into some idiotic tangent about me having more of a right to our child than you and then you have the audacity to talk about disappearing on me."

"Liv… that's not what I meant at all." He begins to explain, but she cuts him off.

"You listen to me. You better be there for this baby, you understand Bishop. She's as much yours as she's mine and if you leave me alone in this… I swear to god I will hunt you down and make you wish you were dead. I'll bring you back into existence and then kill you if I have to."

"Sweetheart calm down. I am not going anywhere." His hands find the sides of her abdomen, as he gently caresses the swell of her belly. "Wild horses couldn't drag me away from this baby. You know that."

"Then stop saying stupid things to me." She says all her anger deflated when she sees the look in his eyes, sighing. The man could be so obtuse sometimes. "God... with my hormones driving me up the wall…Peter for a smart guy, you can be a complete idiot."

"I am not as smart as you think." He shakes his head at her, moving closer from the foot of the bed to give her a kiss. "And I am with you in this a hundred percent, irrespective of whether our daughter's birth certificate says Bishop or Dunham under last name." He says decisively. "You know that don't you?"

"I know." She nods. "Just let's table the discussion about the last name for later and get through the first name for now."

"Agreed, I only like to be threatened with death once a day and we're not even on a case right now." He smirks, and she slaps him lightly on the cheek.

"Do you want to name her after your mother?" He asks then, settling next to her in bed, abandoning his ritual of apparently inferior bedtime foot rubs. If he was as bad as she said, she must really love him for having put up with it for so many weeks. He puts his hand instead on her bump, intertwining his fingers with hers.

"No…" She smiles in a sad sort of way, her eyes faraway for a second before they find him again "As much I loved her, I don't think I want to associate my daughter in anyway with… everything you know."

He nods. She looks at him then, a thought occurring to her.

"Do you want to name her after your mother?" She asks. "Elizabeth is a beautiful name."

"No… pretty much for the same reasons. But I think it'd be nice if she had that for a middle name." He says wistfully. "If that's okay with you?"

"It's more than okay." She smiles tightening her hold over his hand on her belly. "I think Walter would really like that too."

He smiles at that and doesn't speak for a couple of seconds. "This is hard work you know. I wonder... how she made the decision…to call him Henry."

She rests her head on his shoulder. "Must have had some significance to her I suppose. That's why I would do it at least. I'd like to think we're the same in that aspect." She says and then sighs, as she remembers. "You know when I was over there… there was this cab driver named Henry. I hijacked his cab at gunpoint and tried to convince him that I wasn't from there. He must have thought I was insane but he helped me anyway. Twice actually when my hallucinations of you finally managed to make me see the truth."

"Olivia I am sorry…" He whispers.

"Don't be. It doesn't matter now." She says squeezing his hand. "Anyway he helped me escape. In a way I owe my life to him."

"Sounds like someone I owe a big thank you to." He says kissing her forehead. "Though I doubt he had anything to do with why she named him Henry."

"We'll never know will we." She then turns to look at him. "Peter, I know you want to protect me from this. But I am here for you, if you want to talk about it. Talk about your son."

He swallows audibly, nodding and then looks at her with sorrow as his hand slips from her belly. "I don't know what to talk about Liv. I mean I never knew him, never knew of him. And now that I do, he doesn't even exist anymore. It just… it feels so unreal you know. Like it never happened. But then the observer showed me these flashes of him and he was about as real as anything else in this messed up world. He looked a lot like you, you know." He says giving her a pained smile.

She nods, slightly uncomfortable at the implication but doesn't say anything.

"It's just… he said something you know about how the child was not meant to be because he was born to the wrong Olivia. I don't know what he meant by that but I can't help thinking… if I hadn't been so blinded by deception and screwed everything up." The guilt and desperation is rife in his voice. "Maybe he was meant to be ours Liv." He says in a whisper.

"Maybe…" She sighs, rubbing slow circles on her stomach with her hand in the unconscious way she's become accustomed to. "You know Peter; these past few years… they've really opened my mind to things that I could have never imagined possible. I've seen firsthand how different actions result in different consequences. But it doesn't matter how many alternate realties there are. People are the same in any universe. They make mistakes, mistakes which come with a price. That's what makes us human. We can't always think about how we could have done something differently and if that would change an outcome. It doesn't work that way." She shakes her head.

"What happened between you and her, what it resulted in…I know it's hard for you to reconcile yourself with it. It's still hard for me at times but it happened… in some iteration of our reality it happened. That's all there is to it. So don't torture yourself with what could have been."

"I suppose you're right." He nods his voice a little shaky. "It _is _a bit far-fetched."

She then takes his hands and places them back on her stomach. "I honestly don't know Peter, if I was meant to be your son's mother but I do know _this _baby was meant to be ours." She says smiling at him. "You know I never thought about kids. Not once… ever. Not even with John and he was the first person in my life whom I actually thought I had a future with. But after that first night we spent together, I just knew I wanted a family with you someday. That someday sooner than later hopefully, I would have your baby. "

"So that nursery's been on your mind for a while huh?" He teases her, his voice somewhat lighter.

"You have no idea." She says her eyes lost in the soft remembrance of the past. "The world was crumbling into pieces, but I was so happy about us being together that I couldn't help myself from thinking about the future and where we would be. Guess I jinxed it huh?"

"I'd say considering where we are right now, you were spot on." He says grinning at her. "You and me and our fetus extraordinaire." He pats her stomach fondly and then chuckles with mild exasperation. "Look at us. We get into length discussions about our supersized emotional baggage every chance we can. No wonder this poor child doesn't have a name yet."

"We'll figure something out. One that's right." She tells him.

* * *

"I was thinking Henrietta?" He says to her the next morning at breakfast.

"Henrietta?"

"For the baby…" He says hesitantly. "I kept thinking all night about what we talked about. About me reconciling with the truth of what happened and I thought maybe this is a way I could do that. By our naming our child, who was meant to be for the one who existed despite that. To remind us of how our actions have a bearing on outcomes… good, bad and sometimes unexpected."

"I'd understand if you're not okay with that. We could always…" He tells her doubtfully, reading her silence for disapproval, but she simply smiles at him.

"It's perfect."


	32. Chapter 32

"Etta's doing fabulously. She's very advanced for her age and clearly a very intelligent and well engaged child. I love having her in my class." The teacher, a perky young woman wearing a sundress, tells them with a cheery, smiling face as they sit at her desk.

"That's good to know." Olivia says politely. "Is that why you wanted to see us Ms. Kennedy?" The hint of frustration and impatience is only apparent to Peter, knowing her as she does.

A Monday morning meeting with Etta's kindergarten teacher was not really ideal for either of them, given that they were working a case right now and had barely gotten any sleep last night. But it was also out of the question that they would not make it. No matter how busy their lives got, their daughter took top priority.

_"Did she say what it was about?" He had asked her in the morning at breakfast._

_"Nope. Only that she wanted to discuss something about her behavior in class. She didn't sound angry or alarmed. So I am guessing it can't be too bad."_

"Kind of." The teacher, only known to them as , nods at the both of them. "It's not uncommon for gifted kids to exhibit rich imagination and Etta's clearly a very creative child. But I do have concerns about some of the things she talks about."

"Like what?" Peter asks curiously.

"Like her interest in science." She says. "It's great that she's so excited about it and already knows so much about things way beyond her age group but the thing is… she often gets into these really elaborate stories about alternate universes and realties and I find that a little worrying."

"Alternate universes? Etta talks about alternate universes?" Olivia repeats, sharing a worried look with Peter.

"What does she exactly say Ms. Kennedy?" Peter asks cautiously, shifting a little in his seat uncomfortably.

"Well, she talks a lot about a bridge between two worlds at Liberty Island in New York and how they had to close it because the universes were going to collapse. Something about a boy who was good at chess, who went to live on the other side." The teacher says, looking less than happy to be saying such things. "And then she talks about how this other world is different from ours and how the green lantern is red and how they have zeppelins over there all the time. It's very specific and elaborate. Almost like a sci-fi show." She says.

"I see…" Olivia says evenly. "That's… quite interesting."

"You two are in a lot of her stories." She goes on. "I overheard her talking the other day to another kid in class about how her daddy was from the other universe that was at the bottom of a lake."

"Really? She said that?" Peter asks in a voice full of surprise. "Did you hear that honey? That would certainly make an interesting story if I actually was." He jokes, trying to avoid his wife's gaze who was giving him a deathly glare at that point.

"Yeah, I asked her why she would think that. And she just went on about quantum theory and time-space continuums. She even tried to convince me that you had been erased from this timeline and then brought back into existence. She was very serious about it. " Ms. Kennedy says looking at Peter and giving him an uncomfortable smile.

"Do you have any idea why she would make up a story like that Mr. Bishop?"

"Beats me." He says his voice full of put on incredulity and then shrugs. "She likes spending time with her grandfather. My father…he's a scientist and he likes to talk to her about different things and maybe it got her confused. Like you said, she has great imagination and kids, they say the darnest things sometimes you know."

"I guess…" She nods not looking entirely convinced. "She said something else about you..." She says turning to Olivia. "That you had superpowers and you could make things move with your mind?"

"Really?" Olivia says dryly, her eyebrows going up sharply at the other woman's words.

"Yeah… I mean most kids at this age do tend to view their parents in a larger than life capacity and I guess given that both of you work for the FBI, she may see you in a heroic way, but…I am not entirely sure about how I feel about Etta harboring such fantastical delusions."

"You think our daughter's suffering from delusions?" Olivia asks clearly not pleased with the tone the conversation had taken.

"That's not what I think at all." Ms. Kennedy immediately backtracks, noticing the fierce look on Olivia's face. "I am just saying that maybe Etta has some trouble differentiating between what's real and what's fantasy. Maybe you two can sit down and have a talk with her?" She says gently, throwing a helpless look at Peter who only seems to be mildly amused with everything.

"Oh we'll be definitely talking to her." Olivia says nodding grimly.

* * *

"I am going to kill your father." Olivia says angrily as she begins the ignition and reverses the car out of the school's parking lot.

"By all means go ahead. But don't we need him for our work?" Peter asks with a wry smile on his face, which only serves to infuriate her further.

"Peter… did you hear what she said. That woman clearly thinks Etta's crazy."

"She doesn't think that Liv." Peter attempts to placate her, but she cuts him off.

"She used the word delusions Peter." She says grimly. "And given that neither you nor I ever told her anything about the other side and about ten other people have clearance to this information, it can only have come from one person."

"I'll talk to him, Liv." Peter says in an assuring voice. "No more Grandpa's Walter's tales from the crypt."

"You find this funny don't you?" Olivia says then shaking her head at the amused expression on his face.

"Well… yeah don't you." He shrugs. "Etta's teacher is sitting in there, thinking these are just stories made up by a kid. She doesn't even know how ridiculously true every bit of it is. It's funny to think about reality and fantasy and who actually has it mixed up."

"Well you know… I know a little bit about fantasies that seem more real than anything else in your life and I can tell you… reality is just a matter of perception." She says, her mood somewhat clearing up little bit.

"Right." Peter chuckles. "Between you, me and Walter… there's no hope for this kid."

"Do you think we should be worried?" She asks looking at him slightly anxiously.

"No." He laughs. "I think it's her teachers we should be worried for."


	33. Chapter 33

Olivia loves doing laundry. The warm, clean feeling of clothes when she takes them out of the dryer, inhaling the intermingled fragrances that waft from them… the typical industrial smell of liquid detergent, the spring scent of the fabric softener and an infusion of lavender from the in wash booster she liked to add.

It's a cathartic ritual for her. A reminder of the fact that no matter how messy things got, they can come out clean in the end.

She sorts through the pile of clean clothes, folding them and stacking them up in piles, placing them into different hampers.

Her work clothes, black pantsuits and dress shirts in cream and white are the first to be folded followed by her other clothes. Despite Peter's constant teasing of her penchant for black clothing, she does own other colors, army green in particular, always a favorite color of hers, a few greys…

Her Northwestern shirt makes it to the pile every week, just like Peter will invariably divest her off the garment on the nights she wears it to bed, his flimsy argument being that as much as he loves her in the shirt, he likes her better without it.

She's never found the argument particularly lacking though…

She's folding his MIT sweatshirt now, a slight smile sets on her lips. It amuses her to no end that he actually went and bought himself another one after his old one was well…erased along with him and other traces of him.

"Still trying to impress the girls Bishop?" She had teased him, when she saw him wearing it.

"Just the one." He had grinned at her. "Thought I'd remind her of what an Ivy League catch I am."

"By wearing a shirt from a school you didn't actually attend?" She had joked, finding the sight of him wearing it endearing despite the irony.

The shirt now looked just as old and frayed as the one he used to own, evidence of excessive use over the years both by him and her. She had literally worn it every day in the last trimester of her pregnancy, feeling comforted by the way it smelled of him, the soft fabric stretching over her swollen stomach.

It was like being in his embrace all the time.

"I am hoping prolonged contact with the merchandise will inspire her into going to college unlike her father." She had joked when he had finally asked her about it with an amused look on his face.

"I can get you one too if you like it so much." He had offered.

"I don't want a new one. I like this one." She had said a tad possessively.

He had smirked at that.

"You seem to like wearing my clothes a little too much. Not that I am complaining. You look much better in them."

Unlike most wives or girlfriends, she's never done any shopping for Peter, preferring to allow him the choice in clothing himself. She likes the way he dresses. That casual understated style that was just enough to make him look good without making it seem like he put too much thought into it.

She makes quick work of his Henleys… all in varying shades of grey and blue. She'd never admit it to him, but she absolutely loves the way they stretch on his body, showing off his broad, runner's build.

His button ups are next. Even after having gone through the wash cycle, the indelible signature of his scent stays with the cotton. She loves being enveloped in that warm fragrance when she'll them borrow on some mornings.

Maybe one of his wool sweaters when it's chilly…

Perhaps she does like wearing his clothes a little too much.

Blue has always been his color…he owns too much of it, she thinks. His navy blue pea coat, his shirts, his sweaters. She counts four pairs of his vintage jeans as she folds… all some variation of blue, and these were the ones that just made it to the wash pile.

The profusion of color in the otherwise muted wardrobe came entirely from their daughter. Etta loved every color in the rainbow, her clothes bright and vibrant with florals and prints and everything.

More than anything, her daughter loved white, an acute contrast from her own preferred color.

An impractical choice for a high-spirited toddler but then again, she never had the heart to deny her, not when she looked so angelic and beautiful in it.

Like the white eyelet sundress with pretty embroidered flowers at the hem, the one that she'd insisted on wearing when they'd gone to the park last week and then promptly gotten chocolate ice cream all over.

She runs a critical eye through the fabric as she holds it in up in the light, trying to see if she'd gotten all of it out.

Thankfully she had. It looked just as untarnished as ever. Ready to be worn for some completely unsuitable outing again.

She shrugs... that's what bleach was for anyway.

Folding her daughter's clothes always makes Olivia smile, her expression softening at the little sleeves and collar of the Boston's Children Museum shirt in her hands, thinking of how they'd have to get her a new one in about a month's time when she outgrew it.

She lays it in on top of the last pile giving a nod of satisfaction at the neatly ordered stacks of clean laundry.

Life was good she thinks…


	34. Chapter 34

"So how much trouble did we get into with the CIA?" He asks her when they're in the middle of yet another all -nighter at the lab, with the two of them sitting in Walter's old office pouring through old records.

"Huh?" She diverts her attention from the file she's reading to look at him, distracted from her work by his abrupt and out of context question. He's chewing on the end of a pen, his feet propped up on the table, an open file on his lap, and he's looking at her thoughtfully.

"For what you did for that boy." He reminds her.

The empath, the one who had helped them catch the Artist. That's who he was talking about. That was over two weeks ago she thinks, wondering why he was asking her about it right now.

"Not as much you'd think. Broyles was… well surprisingly great about the whole thing." She says and then goes back to her file.

They don't talk for a few minutes.

"You're good with kids you know that." He tells her then, still looking at her in that contemplative way.

She smiles at the odd comment, choosing not to ponder over it, and yet finding herself rather thrilled by the things he seemed to notice about her. "Well they're good with me. They don't have agendas and they don't try and pretend to be something they're not. It's easy." She shrugs.

"Do you think you'll want one for yourself?" He says, picking up his bottle of root beer, running his finger around the opening, before taking a sip.

"What?" She asks absently, pulling out her marker to highlight something in the report she was reading.

"Kids of your own. Do you want to have children someday?"

The felt tip of her pen runs askew on the white paper as his words register in her distracted mind. She blinks at him, trying to confirm if she had heard what she thought she had heard.

"Excuse me?" She blurts out.

He immediately looks contrite at her reaction. "I am sorry. I didn't mean to. It's none of my business. Forget I asked." He mumbles, setting his bottle down and picking up his file.

"No it's not that." She finds herself saying, still trying to clear her thoughts. "You just caught me unaware. I've… never really thought about it."

It was true. As much as she loved kids, she had never once entertained notions of having them herself.

"And you know with this job… the idea of me having a family and actually making that work….seems highly implausible to tell you the truth." She tells him, caught a little unaware by the wistfulness of her own voice.

"No… what's implausible is me doing any of that." He tells her with a grin on his face. "You…you should have all of that. Kids, white picket fence… maybe even a dog…" He offers, shrugging sideways.

She can't help but smile at his remark. To think of having any of those things was a laughable notion, considering the whirlwind her life had been pulled into.

To say nothing of the fact that the one person who could have made any of that possible had died in her arms a few months ago and she had spent the better part of the year doubting everything about their relationship.

Her mind goes unbidden to the engagement ring that lay in her jewelry box in her bedside drawer.

"Last I checked there has to be some kind of male involvement for kids to happen." She says lightly, trying not to get too caught up in this discussion.

He was just making idle conversation. That's all there was to it. He could just as easily be talking to her about Xboxes.

"You'll find someone who'll want to be involved." Peter tells her then in a gentle but certain voice.

She looks at him, finding a rare sincerity and genuineness in his expression that makes her almost look away.

"I already did." She says evenly. "Didn't go as planned."

"You will find someone once again." He says, without missing a beat, not even pausing to think. "I know it seems to you right now you'll never be with anyone again, but someday… sooner than later, someone will come into your life and give you everything you want, you deserve to have."

"And you know that because…" She cocks an eyebrow at him, intrigued more than anything else by his faith in the possibility of her finding love and happiness.

"Because I know you and I think you were meant to have all of that. Husband, kids… the whole package."

"Really?" She asks touched by his confidence.

For a self-professed cynic, he sure was prone to romanticism, she thinks.

"Yeah. You'd be perfect at it." He nods. "You'd make a great mother."

His tone is assertive, almost knowing. She's slightly taken aback by the way he says it.

"What makes you say that?" She asks, averting her eyes back to the file and trying to ignore the way her cheeks have turned warm at the suggestion.

Even though there was absolutely nothing in his tone that was remotely suggestive.

"I just know." He shrugs. "In fact I think you'll have lots of kids."

"Sure… anything can happen. We work for Fringe division right." She remarks dryly, knowing how remote the possibility of her having one let alone many kids was.

"Wanna bet on that?" He says, his eyes challenging her almost smugly.

"What's the bet?" She shakes her head, wondering why she let him drag her into this inane conversation in the first place.

"That ten years from now you'll be sitting in your suburban house with your perfect family with a disgustingly adorable kid or two and be boring." He says folding his arms across his chest, a smirk on his face.

"That's your bet, seriously?" She rolls her eyes at him. "And also…boring?"

"All married people are boring. You'll be too." He shrugs.

"So if that happens…" She looks at him in anticipation.

"I get to say I told you so and… ride your car with the siren on for a week." He finishes with a grin.

"What if that doesn't happen and you lose?" She asks.

"It'll happen and I won't lose." He says confidently.

"Say it doesn't." She persists.

"Then… I'll do anything you want." He says without looking anxious in the slightest.

"Are you sure about that." She asks him, a smile on her lips now.

"Completely… so do we have a deal?" He asks.

"Deal." She nods sighing, knowing he wasn't going to let this go.

It was a stupid game anyway. They wouldn't remember it tomorrow and… he wouldn't be here next year let alone ten years from now to actually see it through, she can't help thinking a sudden pang of sadness hitting her then.

It made her more depressed than the thought that she had a better chance of being right about this wager than him.

"I am going to win you know." He says then.

"Sure… if you're still around in ten years that is." She mumbles, trying to concentrate once again on her work.

"You never know. For this...I just might stick around Dunham." He says an odd smile on his lips as he looks at her once again with that contemplative expression on his face.

She smiles herself, feeling assured by that less than definitive statement for some reason.

"What about you?" She asks then.

"What about me?"

"Think you'll want children someday?" She asks genuinely curious now.

He laughs at that, shaking his head, looking at her with mild incredulity. "Me have kids? There's a scary thought."

"Why not? I saw you with Ella. You're not so bad." She says remembering how much of an impression he had managed to make on her niece… and her sister in less than half an hour.

"Let's just say that what you're suggesting is even in the realm of possibility." He sets his now empty bottle on the desk. "For any woman to consider me as husband or father material… she must be crazier than Walter." He shakes his head in a private humor.

"You don't give yourself enough credit." She says seriously. "I think you'd make a wonderful father… and a great husband."

He looks at her with some amount of surprise and she realizes just how idiotically hopeful she had sounded in the way she had said it.

"If you wanted any of that that is…" She adds hurriedly.

He smirks at her. "Thankfully I don't. In fact of all the things I want, that's not even on my B list or C for that matter…"

"Right." She nods forcing a smile, trying not to think of the sinking weight that settles in the pit of her stomach at his words.

* * *

"Does it feel any different?" He whispers into her ear, pressing a kiss below her lobe, as he stares at their intertwined hands where the glint of silver metal gleamed against their skin.

Their world had begun on its steady irreversible path to destruction a year ago and they ran around every day pillar to post trying to slow it down when they could, knowing how futile their efforts really were.

These days, they lost more battles than they won.

On the other side, billions of lives had been lost, a universe had been obliterated into nothingness.

But tonight as he holds Olivia in his arms, he doesn't feel like the man who had set all that in motion by stepping into the machine.

He feels like a man who just a few hours earlier had married the woman he loved.

"Is it supposed to feel different?" She turns around in his embrace, looking at him with that soft look in her face that he had seen on her all day today.

"I don't know. Not really I guess. It just feels like it always felt." He tells her, brushing the errant strands of hair matted with sweat from across her forehead.

"Yeah… feels right." She says a smile playing on her lips, as she uses her free hand to draw circles on his shoulder.

"Definitely." He nods, simply drinking in the sight of her.

The past year has taken a toll on her too. He knows how hard it has been for her steely resolve to be confronted with problems she just couldn't solve, or make better. How that realization has fractured her spirit.

It's lent her eyes an ancient quality, a pain that doesn't fade anymore.

But tonight, she looks truly happy, younger, less burdened, more spirited, a little more like the fiery woman he remembers meeting that day all those years ago in Iraq.

The woman who was his wife now.

_His wife…_ he thinks unable to help the swell of happiness that courses through him as he registers the fact that that's what she was, as of today.

"I wish Walter could have been here today." He says then, his tranquility quelled a little by the thought of his father languishing in that prison.

"Me too." She nods, bringing a hand to his stubble. He had offered to shave for the occasion, but she had refused saying she wouldn't be able to recognize him if he did.

"He's been waiting for this day for years. It's uncanny. He knew we'd get married even before we were together. He'd saved his purple tux for me to wear and everything." He says thinking back to that day so many years ago when Walter had asked if Olivia would call him dad.

"I would have liked to see that." She chuckles, burying her face against his chest.

"Funny." He shakes his head, kissing her hair, feeling his own sorrow lighten at the sound of her laughter.

At least he could give her this, these precious moments of life in all its simplicity.

"Are you happy?" He asks her then, suddenly feeling the need to know.

"Happier than I've ever been." She mumbles against him sleepily, not looking up. "I don't think I could want any more than this."

"A couple of kids would be a nice addition. But we have some time before we start thinking about that." He says casually, without really thinking about it, realizing the change in the languid atmosphere only when she tenses in his arms noticeably.

"Peter..." She looks up at him, that pain returning to her eyes.

"What is it honey?"

"About what you just said… I…" She fumbles, closing her eyes in hesitation.

"We don't have to decide anything right now." He tells hers gently; perturbed by the agitated look she was wearing.

"No we have to. The thing is Peter, I don't want children." She blurts out, the words out of her in a rush, followed by an eerie silence.

For a second he blinks and then nods wordlessly, not knowing how to respond, trying not to look hurt at the implication.

"It's not that I don't want them. I mean I do… I wish we could have children. I wish it so much." She tells him in an anxious voice. "But this world is dying… everything is just taking a turn for the worse with every day that passes and I can't imagine bringing a child into such a place. It seems cruel and unconscionable."

"If that's what you want." He says slowly, understanding exactly how she felt even if the thought is more upsetting than he would admit to himself.

"Are you disappointed?" She asks in a knowing voice. "I know we never really talked about having a family but I…"

He shakes his head and brings a finger to her lips, kissing her forehead softly.

"You're the only family I'll ever need."

* * *

Fifteen years of sleeping in the same bed as Olivia has made Peter highly attuned to any change in her state of repose.

If she was unable to sleep for whatever reason, he would find himself inexplicably waking up in the middle of the night to find her sitting up staring into space and lost in her own thoughts.

He knew how much she worried about everything, about the deterioration of the universe that never seemed to halt, about their own feeble efforts at containing them.

Tonight though, there's a different concern that frames her face in the moonlight streaming in from their bedroom window, an expression that's almost wistful.

"Peter…" She calls out to him, knowing he was already awake. She reaches out a hand absently, without looking at him. He grasps at it, giving it a reassuring squeeze.

"Yeah."

"Do you really think the world can get better?" She asks hopefully, in a voice that bears a naiveté that he would never associate with her.

He knows what she's really asking. He's known since the moment he saw that drawing on the fridge.

He had made peace with the fact that they would never have children, but he knew she never really had, even though it had been her decision.

He's seen the look on her face over the years when their friends came to them with joyful announcements of births and birthday parties, their familial aspirations undeterred by the direness of the world's realities.

He would have given her that joy too, given her everything she so ardently desired if only she hadn't been so steadfast in her resolve.

They could have been venting their parental frustrations at some sullen teenager, maybe scrounging together a college fund…

He's noticed the undeniable longing that emanated from every cell of her body when she was around kids.

Tonight's conversation had struck at that longing.

"Yes I really think that." He lies easily, not having the heart to tell her how little he believed his own words.

She turns to him with a grateful but knowing expression.

"If it does… I promise we'll try and… maybe who knows." She shrugs, settling back into bed, wrapping his arm around her.

"Yeah who knows?" He pulls her closer, kissing her temple.

"I think in some universe, in some lifetime, we'll have more. Don't you?" She whispers to him.

* * *

"Here you go." She throws the keys to him as they leave the lab.

He deftly catches the bunch, looking at her in surprise. " "You're letting me drive? Did the sun rise in the West today?"

"No… I am just living up to my end of the bet." She shrugs as he opens the car door for her.

"Huh?" He walks around and gets in from the other side.

"Ten years Peter… you were right after all." She says casually, a smile playing on her lips, as she straps her seatbelt on.

He looks at her with confusion for a moment before realization dawns upon him.

"You remembered?" His smile widens at the memory of the conversation.

She returns his smile, shaking her head. "Suburban house, perfect family, adorable kid and boring lives…looks like you won honey."

"Told you so…" He says with an immense look of satisfaction. "I can't believe you remembered though." He chuckles.

"Well you stuck around didn't you?" She points out. "Even if any of this wasn't on your B list or C for that matter."

"What can I say?" He pulls her close for a brief kiss. "I found a woman crazy enough to consider me husband material. Now where's the siren on this thing again?"


	35. Chapter 35

They're back at the lab, a familiar place…and yet everything's out of sync.

Peter and Olivia being one of those things… almost like they were from different universes.

Astrid supposes it's because they were.

"Was it worth it?" She asks, as they sit in Walter's old office.

"What was worth it?"

"Letting go of yourself...for Peter given everything that happened."

"Of course it was worth it. I never once doubted it was anything but worth it."

Olivia shrugs. "But… look at you guys now. You can barely say two words to each other."

The other woman looks up at her in surprise at that.

They really thought no one would notice the way they seemed to avoid each other.

She smiles, the flicker of sorrow vanishing as quickly as it had appeared. "I am not much of a talker anyway."

She doesn't understand this kind of love, the one… that had Olivia had been so powerless to resist, even if all it seemed to do was break her heart over and over.

"Have you ever thought about what would have happened if you'd chosen differently?" She asks.

"No." There's not even a second's pause, a moment's hesitation in her reply.

"Not even now."

"Especially not now. Because my decision gave me my daughter and no matter what happens or doesn't happen between the two of us, we have her. She's ours. That's more than enough proof to know I made the right choice."

Astrid nods. One couldn't really argue with something like that…

It impresses and worries her in equal parts how well they work together despite how fraught their relationship had become. Perhaps it had something to do with direness of the situation.

Or perhaps it's who they were.

"So what happens next? If we survive this, you'll just go your separate ways?" She asks cautiously.

She notices the way Olivia's face freezes. She obviously hasn't thought that far ahead.

"I don't know. Whatever he wants." She shrugs again, her eyes a little distant.

"You don't care?"

"I do care. I want him to be happy…even if that isn't with me."

"What about your happiness?"

"What about it?"

"Doesn't that matter?"

"Not as much as you think."

"How can you be so removed about it? That's your husband." She's a little annoyed now. Annoyed with the way she seemed to be so disarmingly calm about the whole thing.

She was her friend, they both were.

"That was my husband." She says then in a very unconvincing voice.

"He's still the same man Olivia."

"Exactly. Which is why I think he should have no trouble moving on with his life. Provided we get the chance." She smiles a little.

"Olivia…"

"You don't know him like I do." She shakes her head, fondly. "He's unshakeable. Every time the world throws something at him, he shrugs it off and goes on. It's who he is. It's what I love about him. He's not had an easy life you know. It's taken me a while to realize that, but most of that has been because of me. I always seem to mess up things for him."

"That's not true." She protests.

"Unfortunately it is." She nods knowingly. "You don't understand a lot Astrid. There's more to that happy couple you used to know…a fairly complicated past that would make probably you laugh at its absurdity if you just knew the whole story. We've been down this road a few too many times and… I think it's about time I turned back and just let him go. "

"You don't mean that."

This wasn't the Olivia she knew, the one who had gone to every length and beyond for the man she loved.

"Actually I do. I think I am going to stop fighting for what was probably never mine to begin with."

"So that's it. You're giving up on your marriage?"

"If you want to put it that way."

"Is there any other way to put it?"

" I guess not."

"But what you two have is… its special Olivia."

"It's very special. Doesn't mean it would last forever."

"So…you'll be fine without him."

"I'll have to be won't I?"

"And Peter. What about him?"

She looks contemplative for a second before she speaks. "He'll find someone. In case you didn't notice he does have a certain charm that women have trouble resisting." There's a sad smile on her lips.

Astrid blinks at her disbelievingly.

"Do you actually believe he'll just find someone else?" The incredulity in her voice is unmistakable.

"I hope he will. I think he deserves that don't you? To fall in love, to get married… to have a family again. He always talked about more kids…"

"Olivia…" She begins to speak, to dissuade her of this absurd notion of hers.

But Olivia doesn't even hear her, her eyes shadowed in pain, her voice rife with a muted desperation.

"I just...I wish for once he would have something that didn't get taken away from him and the only way he'll have that… is with someone else. If I … if I can just be strong enough… to keep my distance , to give him the chance to be the old Peter Bishop once again…the one who didn't care so much about me, I think he could really have a chance at a normal life."

Astrid sighs, not knowing how to respond to something.

"What if that's not what he wants?" She finally asks.

"Why wouldn't he want that?" She asks curiously looking at her, before her voice turns sadder than before, completely defeated.

"Who wouldn't?"


	36. Chapter 36

Astrid watches Peter with mild amusement. He's sitting next to her in the van, a dark disapproving look on his face, chewing his nail nervously, watching through the windshield as Etta talks to a couple of her black market contacts, his gaze intense enough to burn a hole through the glass.

"So you're saying there's nothing?" They hear her through the walkie-talkie. "No info on who raided the amber or what they did with it?"

"Nothing I know about." The man replies.

"Oh come on Joe, I think we both know that's not true."

"What makes you say that now?" He moves a little closer to her, and Peter's hands tighten over the steering wheel noticeably.

"Because I know nothing moves in this part of town without you getting a cut of the action." She says.

"For someone so damn cute, you know a lot of things you shouldn't baby doll." The younger man standing next to Joe says, giving her an admiring look.

She turns to him with a disarming smile. "I could say the same thing about you. Who's the new guy Joe?" She asks casually, almost flirtatiously.

"Oh God." Peter sighs, resting his head on the steering wheel. "Why do I have to watch this. "

"Relax Peter. she's just trying to get information." Astrid says, unable to stifle a smile at his distress.

"I am Joe's nephew." He says eagerly.

"Well, hi Joe's nephew." She says smoothly holding out her hand. "Do you come with your own name or should I just call you that."

"It's Mark baby doll… and you can call me anything you like."

"I'll keep that in mind." Etta says giving him another bewitching smile. "Any chance you can get your uncle to help me out here."

"I might, what's in it for me?" He says moving close enough to her, his face now inches from hers.

"What does he think he's doing?" Peter says, trepidation in his voice. "And why is he standing so close to her."

"Shut up Mark." Joe says tersely. "Think with your head for once wouldcha. The one that's on top of your shoulders."

"Finally, the sleazebag and I can agree on something." He mutters angrily. "And why is she not moving away from that slimy jerk."

"Peter she's just doing what she has to. I doubt she's enjoying any of this." Astrid tells him.

"Oh come on Joe. Where's your heart man? We gotta help this pretty little thing."

"Yeah come on Joe." Etta echoes his words, winking at Mark. "Aren't you gonna help a girl in need. I'll make it worth your while."

"She better not be talking about what I think she's talking about." Peter says shaking his head.

"What do you have in mind?" Joe asks her, mild interest in his voice.

"Level two tech. You can have it. Just as long as you tell me, who raided the amber and where we can find the stash."

Peter sees the way his eyes light up in anticipation even as he nods curtly trying not to be show outward signs of interest.

"Wait here. I'll be back." He says and walks away.

Etta turns towards the van and nods almost imperceptibly and Peter sighs in relief.

"She's quite the closer isn't she?" He says then in a somewhat disappointed voice.

"She reminds me of you actually." Astrid says smiling at him.

"That's exactly what I was afraid of." He says wryly. "Of all the things we could have had in common, our shared experiences of making shady deals with shady men is not something I wanted for us to bond over."

"I was actually talking about her ability to talk people into giving her whatever she wants. She's quite the charmer when she wants to be."

"Oh yeah…she's smooth." He says unhappily.

Etta's now turned towards Mark who was still standing there.

"Aren't you gonna go with him?"

"Naah, thought I'd stay here. Keep an eye on you. It's a dangerous place. Pretty girl like you…not safe by herself."

"Thanks." She nods, a hint of annoyance in her tone. "But I can take care of myself."

"Why don't you let me take care of you." He says in a suggestive voice moving closer to her.

"Show you a good time. Buy you a drink." He puts his hand on her shoulder

"Oh kid… you did not just do that." Peter says furiously. "If he touches her again. I swear I will kill him."

"Peter... she's just."

"She's just nothing..." He cuts her off. "I know that look on his face. He is not allowed to look at my daughter that way. That is not okay. I mean, on what planet is that okay?" He says incredulously.

"She's not four years old Peter." Astrid reminds him gently. "She's a grown woman. You honestly think men wouldn't be interested in her."

"That's not the point." He grumbles. "I don't want her to be pawed at by creeps like him. You know Olivia would have pulled her gun out by now." He points out, folding his arms across his chest, like a petulant child.

"Olivia had a badge and the force of the law behind her to be able to do that. Etta has to make the best of a bad situation." She reminds him. "And she's not exactly helpless. Look."

Etta is stepping away from him, laughing a little. "Maybe another time okay." She says noncommittally.

"Oh come on gorgeous. I don't get anything for helping you out?" He moves close to her again, his face inches away from hers, a hint of danger in his voice. "Where's your sense of gratitude now?"

She laughs at that again, though the discomfort is evident in the way her body tenses slightly and she folds her arms across her chest defensively. "I don't recall you doing anything yet that would invoke my sense of gratitude." She says lightly.

"I have a few ideas how I can change that…" He says in a salacious voice.

"Ok that's it. I am going to kill him now." He says, reaching for the car door.

"Peter…' Astrid grabs his arm. "You're going to ruin everything. Just stay put. Etta can handle this." She tells him sternly.

"What if she can't?" He almost whines at this point and she has to resist the urge to roll her eyes at him.

"Peter you have to trust her." She tells him.

"It's not her I don't trust." He says pointedly. "I shouldn't have let her go alone. I should have gone with her."

"And done what? You are an unknown entity. Nobody knows anything about you. You really think it would have helped if you stood next to her glowering at the very people who can help us."

He scowls at her but doesn't say anything.

"So what do you say sweetness?" He can hear Mark say.

"I say no." She says firmly in a voice that didn't invite further discussion, moving away from him. "And word of advice Mark… your uncle's not a big fan of mixing business with pleasure and neither am I. Try that with someone else, you might just find yourself short a few fingers short. Just saying you know." She shrugs.

He looks pissed at that. "Jeez…you're a stuck up little bitch aren't you? Fucking tease…"

"Peter…" Astrid puts a hand on his shoulder immediately, seeing the way his face tightens with anger.

He closes his eyes as if he were in pain, the steering wheel in a deathly grip at this point. "It's fine…just part of the job right." He says tonelessly.

"Aww…" Etta says in a mocking tone. "No more baby doll or gorgeous? What happened to all the love Mark?"

She shrugs with a thin smile as he simply glares at her standing in silence as Joe comes back and hands her a piece of paper.

"Here you go. When can I have the tech?" He asks in a business like tone.

"Next week. I'll have someone run it for you. Pick it up at the usual place and time." She says in a blasé voice, though Peter can make out the tremor of anticipation, as she clutches at the piece of paper.

"You better not be messing with me." He says in a threatening voice.

"I know better. Thanks for this Joe. And nice meeting you Mark." She says in a fake-sweet voice, and then she turns and walks to the corner, signaling for them to meet her there.

* * *

"I got the location." She says triumphantly as she climbs into the van, giving them both a wide smile.

"Good, your father was about to have an aneurysm." Astrid says giving him a meaningful look as he starts the ignition and drives.

"Why what's wrong?" Etta asks, noting the dark look on his face.

"Oh it's nothing honey. For some strange reason, watching my only daughter cavorting with thugs and criminals is not very entertaining to me. Crazy right." He says not looking at her.

"What can I say dad? I try and keep a busy social calendar and cavorting with criminals is on top of my fun things to do right next to knitting and bible study." She rolls her eyes.

Astrid laughs at that, ignoring Peter's expression. "I knew a day would come when someone would make Peter Bishop shut up. Never thought it'd be you."

Peter's foot comes down on the break so hard that both Etta and Astrid jerk forward from their seats.

"Jesus… dad are you trying to get us killed?" She says, rubbing her forehead ruefully.

"Sorry." He mutters, accelerating a little more.

Etta gives Astrid a purposeful look as if to know what had gotten into her father.

_Don't ask_. She shakes her head in exasperation.

* * *

"I think he sees too much of himself in you and for some reason that doesn't sit well with him." She tells her later in the night after Peter takes off to the roof to brood some more and they find themselves alone.

"Why would that bother him?" Etta finds herself puzzled.

"I don't know." Astrid shrugs. "Your father's past was always a mystery to everyone except maybe your mom. Seeing you like this….with those men really unsettled him."

"Seeing me like what?" Etta asks in disbelief. "He thinks I enjoy dealing with people like that? I just went from being a Fringe Agent to becoming a fugitive on the run to get you guys out. I am doing everything I can to help him find mom and he actually has the nerve to sit in fatherly judgment of me?"

"Etta it's not like that. You have to understand."

"No I don't want to understand." She holds her hands up. "He was gone for twenty years. He doesn't get to question my methods or my actions. He lost the right to disapprove of me a long time ago."

"Peter…" Astrid says and Etta turns around to find him standing there.

She meets his eyes defiantly, looking at him with something close to disappointment before shrugging and walking away.

"Kudos… we just got ourselves some daddy issues." Peter says looking at Astrid in sad, dejected way. "Wouldn't be a Bishop family reunion without it."

* * *

"For the record I don't disapprove of you." He says as he walks into the room and finds her cross-legged on the floor examining the blueprints of the building they were going to break into the next day.

"For the record, I don't care if you do." She says not looking at him, as she stares at the blueprints in front of her.

"Guess I deserve that." He sits next to her, watching in silence as she ignores him and continues to gaze at the drawings in front of her.

"You're upset. I get it." He says after a couple of minutes unable to help a smile at her stoic expression. "You know you can stop burning a hole in those blueprints and actually look at me."

She cocks an eyebrow at him in a look which told him she wasn't amused.

"Okay go back to staring at the blueprints. I feel like you might burn a hole through me." He smirks at her.

"Is this what you always do... make some snide witty remark when things get uncomfortable?" She asks.

"Yeah… and from the looks of it, it's what you always do too. In case you were wondering where you got that from." He says giving her a grin.

"Well... I guess the apple doesn't fall far from the tree." She shrugs.

"No. Clearly not." He nods. "Even though I was kinda hoping for this apple to roll away a little bit at least. Sweetheart, I know what you're trying to do. The whole I am angry and I hate my father act…" Peter says humorlessly. "Been there, done that."

"I don't hate you." She says sighing with exasperation.

"Oh yes you do. Walter was gone for 17 years of my life and I hated him for that. I hated him for not being there for me and I am hard pressed to believe you feel any differently about my absence in your life." He says in a knowing voice.

"You can believe whatever you want." She says dryly. "But you have no idea about how I feel about your absence in my life… or anything else for that matter."

"I know what it's like to be let down by a parent." He says, touching her hand gently. "I know how disappointing it is to feel that aching need for them in those important moments of your life and to turn around and look hopefully only to find nobody who looks at you with pride and happiness."

Etta looks at him then, to meet his eyes, only to see them lost somewhere. "At least I had my mother. But I had never had Walter in my life. For a very long time, I never had him. Even before he was locked up, He was always busy, never around…"

"When you were born, I promised myself that I would be there for you. That I would be the kind of father that I had missed having when I was growing up. But the truth is I wasn't there for you. And knowing exactly how that feels like, I can tell you it doesn't go away. Not completely."

"But you got past it didn't you?" She asks, a little warily.

"I don't know. Maybe I did. Or maybe I realized I couldn't hold this version of Walter responsible for things that he didn't. Sometimes it's almost a blessing that we had the opportunity to rebuild our relationship on a clean slate, without any of the resentments of the past. But you and I, we'll always have this between us. We don't have to let it define us. But we can't pretend it didn't happen. Nothing will ever make the fact that I was gone for twenty years of your life completely okay… no matter how much we move past it."

"You're terribly pessimistic you know that?" She tells him, a slight smile playing on her lips.

"I know. Your mom once referred to me as a card carrying cynic." He gives her a slight smile which falters immediately. "See that's really the thing. What happened today… it wasn't even about you. It was about me."

"What do you mean?

He sighs. "Etta, there are things in my past that I wish I could get away from. Things I am far from proud of. I have tricked a lot of people in my life, manipulated them into suiting my ends. Left them high and dry to save my own hide. The truth is for a long time; I was a terrible excuse for a human being. But then something happened. A beautiful and strong woman came into my life and challenged me to be more than that. She saw something in me that I never knew I was capable of. And because of her, for her… I tried to be a better man. To be the kind of person that she would want to have anything to do with." He says thinking back to that day in Iraq.

"I have messed up a lot you know." He shakes his head sadly. "I have let down everyone I love at some point or the other. Everything in my life including my relationship with your mother has always been tainted with the knowledge of my past, my own weaknesses. There is nothing which is undamaged. Except you… you were the only truly good thing I did with my life. But what I saw today scared me Etta. It reminded me of the things I was capable of once, of the darkness inside me and even though I know… our motives and reasons are completely different, I am scared that I am responsible for putting that darkness in you. I am scared of what that could mean…"

"Dad..."

"But that's not fair to you. You are your own person. A person capable of making her own choices and decisions and I don't have the right to hold you responsible for my issues. Especially considering I didn't play any part in the person you grew up to become." His voice trails off.

She doesn't say anything for a few seconds, finding it hard to look at him.

He sighs and gets up then, laying a hand on her shoulder. "Anyway I just wanted to say I am sorry for my behavior today. It was way out of line. I understand that I can't just walk into your life and be your dad like nothing ever changed. I do hope we can be friends… if nothing."

She grasp his hand before he leaves, without looking at him.

"I waited really long to have my dad back. You can't just… you can't just quit after one day."

"Etta that's not what I meant." He says, but she shakes her head, not letting her grip on his hand loosen.

"I know what you meant and no…I don't want you to be my friend. I mean, I don't want you to be just my friend." She looks up at him, her face nervous but her tone firm, unwavering. "I want…I need you to be my dad."

He gives her a sad smile, bringing his hand to her chin. "Thank you for saying that but that's not true and I think we both know that. You've done great on your own. You don't need me for anything."

"You're wrong." She says with force, though she bites her lower lip anxiously, in a gesture so like her mother's that Peter's heart clenches painfully at the memory. "I know I am not the easiest person to care for or love…but don't give up on me okay. At least not so soon."

"Whatever gave you that idea?" He bends down on his knees once again, bringing both his hands to rest on her face. "Loving you is so easy honey,easy like breathing and just as necessary. I couldn't do without it. And I am not giving up on you." He says, his tone mirroring the same determination as hers. "I am just trying to find my place in your life again. I don't really know what that is anymore."

"I don't either." She shrugs. "But I know I need you. I may not need you to take care of me, or do things for me but I still need you… in every way a person needs their father. We can figure this out together. Can't we?"

He nods warmly, and then gives her a sly look. " Can we start by me beating up that bastard hitting on you earlier? Because that would just really validate my role in your life and give me immense amounts of fatherly satisfaction."

She cocks an eyebrow at him in amusement. " I bet it would. Though I have a better idea. Tell me everything about...how this beautiful and strong woman changed you from such a terrible excuse for a human being as you like to think. Must have been some story."

He chuckles at that. "You have no idea sweetheart. Its the stuff of dreams... really scary sci-fi nightmares at that. "

She rolls her eyes at him. "Don't exaggerate. I bet, your eyes met across a crowded room and it was love at first sight?"

"Far from it." He laughs shaking his head. "The first time I met your mother, it was in Iraq. There was a war going on, I was trying to run a scam on two businessmen, she was in love with somebody else and she blackmailed me into helping him."

"What?" She exclaims, her face completely in shock.

"You see honey... it all started with flight 627 Hamburg to Boston..."


	37. Chapter 37

**Author's Note: A final AU fic in some ways, before speculations ends on events of S5.**

* * *

"You named me for a son you had with Mom's double from another universe?"

Peter and Olivia look up from the computer screen to see their very irate daughter standing there, hands on her hips, looking at the both of them with incredulity and plainly visible anger.

"Walter told you didn't he?" Peter sighs, exchanging a look with Olivia, before settling his gaze back on Etta.

"Oh yeah… we've just had the loveliest little chat." She nods, folding her arms across her chest, looking at Peter mainly with rife disapproval on her face. "Of course he doesn't remember anything given he's as high as a kite right now. But… um what on earth were you thinking?"

"Regarding…" Olivia asks cautiously.

"Regarding the fact that your husband cheated on you with another version of yourself and knocked her up and then convinced you to name me after his freakin' love child?" She says, her voice several octaves higher than before.

"Ok first off, I did not cheat on her." Peter says putting up his hands in defense. "And secondly… you were kind of a love child too honey."

"Is that what you take out of this? Seriously?" She almost yells at him before turning back to Olivia.

"How could you let him do this to me?"

"I…" Olivia almost stumbles back, completely caught unaware and almost a little frightened by Etta's tirade. "I… we had our reasons honey. You have to understand."

"Oh no… I do not want to understand. Whatever your reasons are… this is just way too weird and inappropriate." She says throwing up her hands, before shaking her finger sternly at Peter. "And you, you don't talk to me ever again."

She stomps off after that in loud and angry footsteps.

"Wow… she…" Olivia says letting out a breath she didn't even realize she was holding. "She really unloaded on us didn't she?" She turns to Peter, who looked just as she probably did, taken aback, almost shell shocked.

"Completely steamrolled us." He nods in agreement. "I don't whether to be proud or scared. I know I shouldn't have told Walter any of that stuff. I should go talk to her." He sighs, bringing a hand to his forehead.

She shakes her head, laying a hand on his shoulder. "I'll go. I think I should be the one to talk to her."

* * *

"Hey." She says softly to Etta who was sitting in Walter's old office, taking apart her gun and putting it back in repeated motions.

"Hey yourself." She shrugs.

Olivia takes a seat opposite her, watching the way her nimble hands work at the weapon. "You know I used to do that all the time. It's a great way of working out your frustrations. Mind if I have a turn at that?" Her mother asks.

She nods and hands over the gun to her, watching as she deftly disassembling the gun into its components and puts them together effortlessly.

"My partner, Charlie and I, we used to have contests on slow days at work. Record our timing. Whoever lost had to buy the winner a drink." She smiles, thinking back to her early days with the FBI.

"I thought dad was your partner." Etta says curiously.

"Yes, though not officially…" She shakes her head. "He just sort of worked himself into the picture, and I did have a life before him you know." She points out.

"Really, you don't say?" Etta rolls her eyes at that. "The way you two are joined at the hip… wouldn't seem that way."

"I know." Olivia nods. "But there is a lot more to things than what they may seem."

"Don't I know it?" She says sarcastically. " Here I thought, my parents were devoted to one another and turns out, my father's no better than a lying, cheating…"

"Enough." Olivia cuts her off in a stern voice, making Etta look up at her in surprise. "You may be an adult now, but that does not mean you can talk about Peter that way. I won't stand for it. He's your father and you will respect him. Do you understand me Etta?" Her voice leaves no doubt for negotiation.

She doesn't but she nods anyway, almost a little chagrined by the look of disapproval on her mother's face.

"Why are you defending him mom?" She asks then. "You of all people...Walter told me what he did, what he did to you…"

"Walter doesn't know everything." Olivia says calmly, interrupting her impassioned argument. "And neither do you for that matter. The only people who know the truth about what happened are your father and I, so I suggest you save your judgments until you know the whole story."

"Fine." She shrugs, still unconvinced. "Tell me the whole story then."

Olivia sighs tiredly. "I never wanted to tell you any of this and I am not going to tell you everything because it's personal. It's very personal and it's between me and him. But I can't have you thinking about Peter this way. Like he was some…" She shakes her head, her voice emphatic.

"Etta, your father did not cheat on me. What happened was not his fault. He thought she was me. His feelings were always for me and if you knew her, this other me, you'd probably think him crazy to have ever chosen me over her. And he definitely did not lie to me. He could have though. He could have very easily kept the truth from me and act like nothing ever happened but he told me everything."

"And you were just okay with that?"

"No… I was mad and angry and very hurt for a long time. I thought we were done. That there would never be anything between us. I shut him out and made the both of us suffer because I couldn't get past what had happened. And even then, he was always there for me, regardless of whether there was a relationship or not, always had my back, always took care of me."

"Well he's good at that." Etta admits reluctantly.

"Yes, he's very good at that." Olivia nods, taking her daughter's hand and giving it a gentle squeeze.

"So then what changed? Why did you take him back?" Etta asks.

Olivia smiles then, her memories taking her back to that day after Brooklyn, when they'd nearly been ambered. "Because I finally realized that we could spend all our lives without each other being hurt and disappointed over something that neither of could have changed or helped, or we could be with each other and have a lifetime of happiness together."

"Just like that?" Her daughter says incredulously

"Just like that." Olivia nods.

"I don't get it." She shakes her head, not looking quite so upset anymore, but rather disbelieving.

" You've never been in love have you?" Olivia asks knowingly, feeling slightly relaxed herself as she absorbs the change in her daughter's demeanor.

Etta scoffs at her. "I don't have time for such silly things."

"Well, we'll have to change that so you can make the time." Olivia smiles at her. "Because then you'd know, it's very difficult to resist something like that."

"If you say so." Etta says in a bland voice, though not unkindly.

"My daughter's a cynic. What a surprise." Olivia's lips curl into a smile. "You know your dad once told me that beneath every cynic, there is a frustrated romantic."

Etta snorts. "This from the guy who basically can't go sixty seconds without making some sarcastic, overly caustic remark?"

"That same guy." Olivia nods fondly.

"Have I mentioned how weird the two of you are?" Etta says then, rolling her eyes in an exaggerated motion.

"Once or twice I think."

"So what happened then?" She asks abruptly, changing gears on their conversation. "So you decided to let bygones be bygones and lived happily ever after?"

"For a while." Olivia says with a smile on her face, which falters quickly. "It was literally like something out of a fairy tale and then…" Olivia's eyes become pained as she speaks. "There was just emptiness for so long, the kind that swallows you up from the inside."

"Why what happened? Did you and dad break up or something?" Etta asks hesitantly, not sure why her mother seemed to be in so much anguish.

"Mom…" Etta calls out, troubled at the shadow that had set over Olivia's eyes and she turns her gaze once more towards her, speaking slowly... like the words were taking a great deal of effort from her.

She tells her about the machine, about how it took Peter away from her, and how he returned despite it all, a man without a past, who knew everything about everybody and who nobody knew anything about at all.

Because he had never existed and his presence from their lives had been written out.

"We were torn apart. Your dad was literally erased from existence, written out of the timeline altogether because of a choice he made to save this world, to save two worlds actually. He was gone for a while. There was nothing of him left, I didn't even remember ever having him in my life, and for a long time I lived with this hole in my heart. No matter what I did or how hard I tried, I couldn't fill it."

"Dad was really gone." Etta whispers when Olivia tells her about the new timeline, her face white with fear. She couldn't imagine losing him that way.

"It's okay. He came back and he's not going anywhere." Olivia reassures her, knowing it was a lot to take in.

After all she still had nightmares of him disappearing again for years after they were married.

Etta doesn't believe her when she tells her about how her memories were overwritten, how she allowed it to happen of her own free will.

"When my memories began to return to me, it was like I finally knew myself for the first time The way he looked at me, like I was always more than…" Olivia tells her. "You of all should know how difficult it is to have known your father's love and then have to go without it. I never wanted to let that feeling go… of being in love with him, no matter what the cost."

"But you didn't even know if he would come back to you Mom."

"It wouldn't have made a difference." Olivia shrugs. "I was never good at letting him go and I knew that even if he didn't want to be with me, I wouldn't be able to stop wanting that feeling. It's the kind of love you can go all your life searching for and never find. And I had that and I wasn't willing to give it up. I doubt I could have stopped what was happening to me anyway. It was how things were supposed to fall in place I guess." Olivia says, remembering the heartbreaking relief that had coursed through her when she had seen him that day outside her apartment, after she had resigned herself to being alone again.

"And then we had you and if anything was proof that I had made the right choice, it was you." She says, bringing her hand to rest on Etta's cheek affectionately. "I never thought I would ever have that with anyone you know, a family of my own and a home, somewhere to belong. Your father… he taught me how to live, how to laugh, how to not carry every burden for eternity and simply be happy."

Etta smiles at that, but the question nagging at the back of her brain, the one that had upset her so much had still not been answered. "But what about his son? That didn't bother you."

"I didn't know about him. Neither did Peter for that matter." She says, swallowing audibly. "We only knew of his existence, after he was gone. Look, I know it might seem callous to you that we named you after him but you have no idea what it's like to lose a child." She says her hold on her daughter's hand tightening, her voice now pained. "And I hope you never have to know that. There isn't any suffering like it." She clutches her palm with both hands. "I didn't even have the slightest comprehension of what he must have gone through, till we lost you. Its agony. It's the worst kind of agony." She repeats in tortured whisper.

"Honey, I know it's very hard to make sense of any of it. You've always had a tendency to put your dad on a pedestal and I think that's part of the reason you're so upset, because you finally have to confront the truth that he's human like everyone else."

"Do you think he wishes he could have had him back?" She asks then hesitantly. "Is that why he gave me his name. Am I supposed to be some sort of replacement?"

"Oh no. God no…" Olivia exclaims as she takes in the scared look on Etta's face. "Is that why you were so angry? How could even think that?" She looks at her daughter, taking both her hands now. "Etta, your father loves you more than anything in this world. There is nothing, nobody, not even me who could come close to the place you have in his heart. You have to know that. He just wanted to remind himself of everything it took for us to get here, to have you. That's why he named you after him. He wasn't trying to make you a replacement. He could never do that. He loves you for you. Because you're all ours."

Olivia sees the way her daughter blinks, processing everything she was saying to her.

"I guess… shouldn't have blown a fuse huh?" She says then softly. "Dad must think I am a real spitfire."

"You're his kid. He wouldn't expect any different." Olivia smiles. "Go talk to him before he starts to get all snappy. I can only handle one fuming Bishop at a time."

* * *

"Astrid can you pass me the soldering iron?" Peter says reaching out his hand without looking up from where he was sitting, bent over his desk.

"Here you go." A soft voice, which was most definitely did not belong to Astrid, says, handing him the tool in question.

"Thought you weren't talking to me ever again." He says dryly, as he switches on the iron sets it on the ledge allowing it to heat, as he looks up at his daughter.

"Change of plans." Etta shrugs, perching herself on his desk.

"Really?" He asks bringing his focus back on the circuit he was attempting to repair, picking up a star screwdriver. "What changed?"

"Knowing the truth." Etta says, bringing a hand to his shoulder, directing his attention back to her. "I am sorry I went berserk like that. I should have known you wouldn't…"

"It's fine." He cuts her off and smiling at her. "Let's not dwell on it okay."

She nods. "I'll let you get back to that." She says and slides of the desk, making as if to leave, when she pauses, bending down to give him a peck on the cheek.

He looks mildly surprised at that, his smile widening. "What was that for?"

"Just for being you."


	38. Chapter 38

"Why do you get to have a say in this again?" She pouts unhappily as he helps her take off her Kevlar.

"Because twenty-four years ago, a judge vested with powers by the state of Massachusetts pronounced us husband and wife and that means several things, one of which is having an unequivocal right to interfere in your life and having a say." He grins, as he unsecures her buckles.

"You know, I think I liked you better when you were a pain in the ass." She says seriously.

"Hmm… I think I liked me better then too." He says without much emotion, though she notes the twinge of disparagement.

She chooses to let the brief moment of silence slide. Things had been better between them. Mostly because they had regressed to a point before their relationship had matured, engaging in the easier, carefree banter of their early days rather than talk about anything of real substance.

Being back in the lab, helped. It helped a lot. It helped them go back to the people they had been when they first met.

It wasn't entirely healthy to evade the very real issues in their relationship but Olivia found herself not caring all that much. They had too much on their plate as it is and she really needed him back, in whatever way she could have him.

If she couldn't have her husband back, she'd take her partner, her friend instead.

Even though she missed the markedly different intimacy that came from being a couple, she found this compromise much better than having to actually deal with the way they had left things all those many years ago.

And she knew he felt the same way.

"Hold still, Liv." He scolds gently, as he slides off the vest and she comes back from her thoughts to look at him.

"It's just, why are we sitting back and letting her run point on this?" She doesn't qualify whom she's referring to. "It doesn't make sense to me."

"Because we don't know this world and she does." He tells her patiently, like an adult would explain something to a child.

"We have more experience with this." She points out, irritated with his willingness to take a backseat.

"Yeah, but this was our job. Admittedly, in crazy times it was a lot more than that, but for a large part it also wasn't." He reminds her. "We did this for paychecks. She's had to do it to survive."

"You're being utterly zen about this whole thing." She observes. "It doesn't bother you?"

"Being ordered around and being told what to do by a tiny and deceptively fragile looking blond woman?" He smirks. "Why would that exactly bother me? I've been doing that for years now. It's sort of what I do."

"You were always such a pushover when it came to her." She folds her arms across her chest.

"And you were always too much of a control freak to let someone else be in charge." He gives her a smile. "You have to trust her Olivia. She knows what she's doing."

"It's not that I don't trust her… I just… I hate not being out there." She sighs with frustration.

"I know. But you have to be patient. We'll get our chance to kick some ass very soon. I promise." He says with a twinkle in his eyes.

"You know Lincoln would have agreed with me." She says then, watching his face for a reaction, almost disappointed to only see a faint smirk on his face.

The man didn't even have the decency to feign jealousy.

"Well… Lincoln didn't father a child with you did he now?" He says smugly, almost arrogantly. "He doesn't have to play referee between two very strong and stubborn women who both expect him to take their side."

"Like you'd ever side with me over her." She scoffs.

"Funny. That's exactly what she said…. your mini me." He chuckles in amusement.

"Stop calling her that." Olivia says sternly, slapping his shoulder. "We're not that alike."

"Sure, if you say so." He says good naturedly.

"Do you think they're okay on the other side?" She asks then, after a moment of silence.

"I hope so." He nods with a sad smile. "I mean they had it worse than us already, can't imagine what it would have done to them if the Observers had taken over there too. I want them to be okay, you know. There are people there I care about. My mo… Elizabeth and Lincoln too."

"I hope he's doing fine." She says thinking of her former partner.

"Yeah, I am sure he must be. Provided of course he's not still pining over you."

"He did not pine over me." She protests.

"Shows how little you know." He laughs. "He was really into you, and just when he thought he was getting somewhere, you had to go and ruin all his hopes by taking your little trip down memory lane. It's a shame, he was a good guy."

"And that's whose fault exactly?" She scowls at him.

"Nobody's." He puts up his hands in defense. "I guess you can't help it that all your partners fall for you. You're very attractive."

She laughs at the way he says it, like it were a simple fact. He always had the knack for saying the most romantic things without sounding sappy. "You think?"

"Sure, blond hair, pretty green eyes, what's not to like?" He says with a shrug.

"That has to be the most underwhelming compliment anyone's ever paid me." She shakes her head with disapproval even as her eyes are alight with amusement.

He cocks an eyebrow at her, leaning forward, an impish smile on his face. "It's a shame that Lincoln didn't even get to see you strip to your underwear and dive into a tank full of water."

"Did I ever tell you you're an awful human being?" She scowls at him.

"Hey, you knew what you were getting into the day you dragged my ass from Baghdad. I never promised to be a saint."

"No I guess you didn't. In fact if I remember correctly, you didn't even want to stay."

"I don't recall that at all." He says in mock astonishment.

"Really, you don't remember barging into my office and throwing a temper tantrum over your father and how this wasn't the job for you."

"I said that? Really?" He feigns ignorance. " Doesn't ring a bell."

"It's not cute when you pretend to be dumb. In fact it's even more irritating than when you show off that genius brain of yours."

"You're just in a mood aren't you?" He smirks. "Remember when we had that talk…in this very office about how we don't take out your frustrations on poor Peter."

"Oh that you remember?"

"I have this problem with selective memory. It's hereditary in case you haven't noticed." He quips with a cheeky grin.

"God… sometimes I can't stand you, you know that." She huffs, feeling her cheeks flush with warmth.

It felt good, too good to do this again.

"You should have thought about that before you decided you wanted me." He smiles then, a genuine, half-baffled smile. "Why did you exactly want me anyway?"

"What is that supposed to mean?" She asks then.

"It means I am hardly your type." He shakes his head. "In fact I'd be the total opposite of your type and I can't think of a single reason why someone like you would fall for someone like me, except for my amazing good looks and my very well-toned body of course." He finishes flippantly and she can't help but laugh.

"That's exactly what it was." She deadpans, not missing a beat. "I wanted you for your good looks and your body."

"I must be quite the eye candy, if that was enough to make you overlook my criminal past, my lack of moral fiber, and my general overall unsuitability for a serious relationship." He says cockily, even though she can detect the reservation in his voice.

"Is this your way of fishing for compliments?" She asks instead of answering his question, bringing a hand to her chin as she looks at him contemplatively. "Because I am not boosting your already over-sized ego.

After all these years, he still doubted himself, doubted his ability to be everything she had always known him capable of being. And she would tell him that, tell him all the goodness she saw in him, except she wasn't sure if he was willing to listen.

He laughs again, a rich cackle that she had missed the sound of so much, accepting her cop out. "I guess you just had a thing for bad boys."

She takes his bait just as easily. "I think the real question is why you fell for me? Think of how much trouble you could have saved yourself if you hadn't?"

"A looooot of trouble." He nods, widening his eyes in mock emphasis. "You Agent Dunham… are no picnic I can tell you that." He looks at her then with a soft smile. "But some things are worth all the trouble in the world."

"You should have crossed over with Lincoln when you had the chance. You wouldn't be stuck here then." She says lightly, trying to take away the sudden heaviness that had weighted their conversation.

"And missed out on egg sticks?" He jokes darkly. "Surely you jest?"

"But it never occurred to you…when we closed the bridge, to go back to your rightful place?"

"I've known my rightful place for a long time Olivia." He says giving her a warm look, one that makes her insides tingle after all these years. "And you know something else I just realized?"

"What?"

"That you were pregnant at the time we closed the bridge and we didn't even know." He shares a smile with her. "Imagine if the machine had zapped me out again and then you'd found out later I'd knocked you up and left you alone… I think you'd have cortexiphaned me into oblivion or brought me back and then done that." He laughs.

"Don't joke about that." She whispers, her smile gone. "That's not funny at all."

"It is a little bit funny." He says and then immediately stops smiling when he takes a look at her face. "Fine, I won't joke about it. But come on, you have to admit, it's been a crazy ride and it's about to get that much crazier."

She nods. "We're probably the only two people in this world who can have such weird conversations."

"At least makes for an interesting life, wouldn't you say?" He winks at her.

"That's one way of putting it." She shakes her head, taking a look at the dusty lab they were in, sighing longingly. "God, so much happened here Peter. I feel like we lived our entire lives here and now, everything's changed and yet, this place remains the same."

He lightly touches her hand with his fingers, a gesture reminiscent of their early days. Unassuming, non-proprietary and never suggestive.

"That's pretty much how life always works, Liv. Some things stay the same and some things change."

"Like the two of us?" She can't help asking. " We've changed."

"But we're also the same." He says gently. "I was your friend first, before anything else and that's never going to change. No matter what."

"We made a good team didn't we?" She says with a wistful smile.

"We made a great team." He nods, giving her arm a light squeeze. "We still do."

"Thank god for that." She nods gratefully, bringing her hands to rest on his chest. He looks surprised but doesn't pull away. She tiptoes closer to him then, pressing a lingering kiss to his cheek.

"It's because you're the only one who can make me laugh like this." She whispers, her lips hovering near his cheek.

"Hmm?"

She meets his gaze. "Why I fell for you..."

* * *

"Are they always like this?" Etta asks, as she sees the two of them through the blinds in the office. Her father sitting with his feet stretched out on the desk a file open in his lap, while her mother sits in the chair opposite him, laughing at something he had said, and then shaking her head reproachfully.

"Pretty much." Astrid shrugs, glancing in the direction of Peter and Olivia, observing the way Etta was watching them keenly.

"It's weird though isn't it? They were so awkward with each other back at the apartment, and now it's like nothing happened." She muses loudly. Something was not oh so right between them. It didn't take a genius to figure that out. No matter how unabashedly relived they seemed to be at each other's presence, or how happy they had been to see each other when they'd blasted her out of the amber, she didn't miss the way they seemed to fall into patterns of silence and meaningful looks.

But watching them now, one would be hard pressed to say anything was wrong at all.

"They have this system of compartmentalizing that works for them I guess. No matter what happened between them at home or outside, in the lab they were always in sync. It's like its where they're most comfortable." Astrid says then.

Etta smiles as she takes in the blush flooding her mother's cheeks at something her dad had said.

"Maybe we should keep them here indefinitely then."


	39. Chapter 39

The lid creaks audibly as he lifts it gently with one hand.

Like everything else in the lab, cobwebs and grime have settled all over the piano too.

He fingers the worn keys lightly, uncovering twenty years of dust with a sweep of his hand.

The ivory keys now yellowed with age and the ebony ones luster less, having lost their sheen.

It wasn't as pliant or melodious as the baby grand Olivia had gifted him, the one e back in their house that had probably gathered dust much like this one, if their house was still standing that was, but it was still a pretty good piano.

He sits down, hitting a couple of keys tentatively, registering the tones. His trained ears can make out the underlying flatness, the out of tune quality of the sound.

But it's still not bad. Good enough to make decent music.

He noodles around with the keys a little more, ambling slowly towards something that seemed to have some structure but wasn't quite there.

A loose pile of sheet music falls to the floor, scattered. He doesn't need to look at them to be able to play, to remember how to play.

The notes are all there, etched in his memory. The countless tunes he has coaxed out of the old instrument, at the tip of his fingers.

Bach for Olivia, tightly woven and dense notes that echoed with a rich sonority, that she would listen to sitting next to him with her eyes closed and her head against his shoulder, tucked under his chin as he played late into the night.

It was like the soundtrack of their marriage.

Jazz for Astrid and for himself. Vibrant, lilting and playful melodies that he would belt out when the lab got too weird, which was pretty much every week. They both shared a great love for the genre…. Miles, Coltrane, Gershwin.

It had been his way of thanking her for putting up with his father's eccentricities without complaint.

Mahler for Walter….operatic, grand and sweeping. The kind of pieces that would lead him towards his scientific epiphanies.

A shared remembrance of his mother who had loved the artist too..

There are many songs Peter can play from memory like an accomplished maestro, complicated and intricate compositions that his fingers could unravel with ease and delicacy, his musical talent being close to prodigious.

But as he closes his eyes in that moment, trying to get his hands to work magic on the instrument again, trying to remember again what music felt like, it's a simpler song that flows out of him. A sweet, whimsical melody that echoes in the silence of the lab, one he had played constantly, almost every day.

For three years, one month and five days.

He had played it the first night they had brought their daughter home. A Hail Mary he had tried after every attempt to calm her down and get her to stop crying had ended in failure.

Every little detail of that night is stamped in his recollection like it was yesterday. The desperation he had felt as he paced around rocking his crying newborn in a sling, trying every position he could think of, every trick he had read in the thousand pregnancy books he had devoured in the past few months.

And nothing had helped.

Twenty four hours of fatherhood and he already felt like a complete and utter failure, almost ready to give up and resort to waking up Olivia and have her rescue him, something he had hoped to avoid give how exhausted she was.

It was then when he had been frazzled, sleep deprived and suffering from some serious self-esteem low that his eyes had chanced upon the piano in the living room, bathed in the moonlight streaming in from the windows.

It was like a celestial solution was being presented to him. And so he had taken a seat at the piano and begun to play softly, the song an unconscious choice he didn't pause to think about, till after.

Almost within seconds, he felt the calmness envelop the baby, the sobs subsiding as the music filled the room.

He had looked down at her snuggled against his shirt in the sling, as she stared back at him with her own unfocused eyes, blinking periodically, thinking he could literally drown in their blueness, if he watched her for too long. Her lips, pert and rosy, opening and closing in imperceptible movement, as a look of concentration set into her little face.

She was listening and carefully at that. He could make out.

He had played for a long time, his gaze locked into hers as she reached out her tiny hand to grab at his shirt in a tight fist, burrowing against his chest, before her eyelids had begun to droop and she gave into sleep, sniffling contently, undoubtedly in the knowledge that she was safe and protected.

He had simply watched her sleep for what had felt like hours, absorbing everything about her, the sight of her, the intoxicating baby scent that made him feel warm inside.

He had felt his tension and anxieties ebb away, thinking that if he could have done this, if he could have made something so perfect, he could then find the strength to be what she needed him to be, be everything she would need him to be in the years to come.

For the first time since knowing of Olivia's pregnancy, he had felt like he wouldn't be such a bad father after all.

"We're going to be fine kiddo, you and me." He had whispered to the sleeping infant confidently. "I am going to take care of you, I promise."

In that moment he had felt invincible, capable of anything. He had gotten her to stop crying and go to sleep after all. He could do everything else too.

"That's a nice song." He hears a soft voice break through his reminiscence as the piece almost draws to close.

He opens his eyes to find Etta standing in front of him, a faint smile on her lips. His fingers stop abruptly, as he's shaken rudely from his memories.

"What's it called?" She asks curiously.

He gives her a pained smile, almost unable to find his voice for a second before speaking up. "It's the Brahms' Lullaby."

She nods and just as he shuts the lid on the organ, she speaks hesitantly.

"Would you…play it again? It just…sounds really familiar."

He looks up at her, feeling that familiar sensation return to him. A confidence that had broken down a long time ago. The confidence of being able to be a good father.

"I certainly can." He nods, smiling as she takes a seat next to him.

Strangely he felt invincible again, unafraid of failure.

He opens the lid once again and begins to play.


	40. Chapter 40

He wakes up in the middle of the night again, his mind reeling from the same horrible nightmare.

It doesn't matter how many times he reminds himself that he had his daughter back. He still can't stop dreaming of that dreadful day, when she had been wrenched away from his arms.

He breathes deeply, trying to calm himself, absently reaching out for Olivia on the other side of the bed, only to encounter empty scratchy linen. His mind almost immediately panics, as he looks around the dark room for signs of her.

Willing himself to steady his quickening heart, he gets up from the bed, following the barely audible splish-splash of water coming from the other side of the room.

She's sitting in the tub, her knees drawn close and her hair wet, eyes lost in a faraway look when he finds her.

"You know you were probably cleaner before you got into the tub." He says lightly, closing the bathroom door behind him, trying not to sound so idiotically relieved.

"I ran some water and cleaned it out before I got in." She returns his smile, though it doesn't reach her eyes. "Not that it helps particularly." She shrugs.

"There's no hot water. You must be freezing." He says, watching her worriedly.

"I can't even feel it." She says honestly. "I just…. I wanted to do something familiar and this is the only thing I could think of."

He understands...

* * *

He understands more than he cares to admit. Being here, back in their old house can't be easy for her.

It certainly wasn't for him. But now that Etta had been made, going back to her apartment had been out of the question. In some half-baked moment of inspiration, he had suggested that they hide out at their old house till they could find a better place.

He really hates his brain for coming up with stupid ideas.

He would have gladly slept under a bridge in the cold, if he could have spared her the look of pain she had worn when she had first laid eyes on the run down structure, or the desperate way in which she had fought to keep the tears in as her gaze had roamed around every inch of floor and wall, over the furniture she had picked out and the decorative accents she had patiently put together to create the personal and tasteful atmosphere that he had been so happy to associate with his home.

Their home…miraculously still standing and relatively untouched, somehow having escaped vandalism and pillage.

Time had made its mark, yes. But apart from the two decades of neglect and obvious layers and layers of dust, not much had changed.

"A lot of loyalists live in the suburbs or what passes for them I suppose. They're the only ones who can afford to really." Etta had shrugged by way of explanation. "People tend to stay away from these parts of the town because of the whole shoot at sight mandate. That's why it's probably so untouched."

She hadn't taken very well to being here either. He could tell. The latent discomfort in her eyes was all too clear for him to see, as she stood there twiddling her thumbs nervously, even as she couldn't help drinking in the sight of the grayed walls and the furniture with a furrowed gaze of concentration, staring at the scattered children's books and toys that they had never bothered to put away, as if trying to jump start some memory that sadly wouldn't yield itself to her.

Almost unconsciously, he had led her towards her old nursery, when he caught himself in time stopping one door short and ushering her and Astrid into the guest room instead in a macabre parody of a good host.

He hadn't been able to keep himself from going into his daughter's old room though. For the first time in what was now years, he could actually walk into that place with his head held high instead of in shame, let himself glance at the small bed where he had once tucked her in at nights, at the decorative letters that hung over it spelling out her name, the impressive collection of stuffed animals that lined the windows that had missed their ritual of a night time kiss from their owner for over twenty years.

He should probably show her some pictures tomorrow, he thinks. She might like that. They had inundated every room of this house, frames upon frames of images of her, of their family, of the utterly normal and fun times they had shared. He had been helpless to not catalogue every moment of her young life, every angle of her perfect face and her smile, as they took her to the beach for the first time and her eyes had lit up at the sight of the ocean, mirroring the color of the water. Or when at Christmas time they had driven down to New York and she had squealed in delight at the sight of the giant Christmas tree at Rockefeller Plaza, and then promptly run towards it, cutting across the rink, slipping and landing rather gracefully on the ice, in a way only children were capable of doing, as he ran after her worriedly.

Predictably he had fallen on his ass, very very ungracefully, much to Olivia's amusement.

He had captured every one of those moments, using a rather expensive Leica he had bought primarily for the purpose of taking pictures of Etta, to be the kind of doting and embarrassing father, he would have had once made fun of.

A stint of photography was part of his repertoire of the several random things he had done with his life, and so he knew a little something about angles and lighting and subjects.

Nothing had made a more interesting subject to him than his daughter or his wife… when she would allow him to come near her with a camera that was.

Relentlessly, he had pursued his mission, and even as she frowned and sighed as he coaxed her to smile for him, unlike his daughter who had reveled in the attention, she would always look pleasantly surprised and happy when he showed her the results of his endeavors.

"You make me look so beautiful." She had said to him once in slightly baffled tone, when he had shown her a picture he had taken of the two of them, a candid shot of her and Etta at the same park where they had lost her, where everything had gone to hell.

It had been earlier; during the autumn when the New England fall foliage had been in its most fiery splendor, making for the most perfect backdrop. The two of them, Olivia in her standard black trench coat at knee level with Etta in her acutely contrasting white coat, a matching beret on her head, they'd been smiling at each other, their identical blonde heads lost in some conversation and not looking at the lens, when he had clicked that picture.

He had laughed at her, as he placed the picture in a Mahogany frame and set it on the mantle, unable to curb the pride swelling in his heart.

"That's because you are beautiful. You both are."

Six months later, in a fit of silent rage, she had taken it down, taken all of them down, removed them from the mantle, from every shelf, every wall, stripping all surfaces that bore any visual evidence of a child having lived there, any trace of the happy couple they had once embodied.

She hadn't been violent the way she went about doing it. She'd been through, methodical and driven.

And when she was done, she set them down in a neat, almost orderly heap on the floor of the living room, and then had sunk to her knees in front of it and cried for over an hour.

He had watched her break down, numb from across the kitchen, downing tumbler after tumbler of whiskey that did nothing to dull his senses or make the pain go away.

It seemed like lately in life he couldn't do anything right, not even drinking.

He should have gone to her, maybe just held her in his arms, even if he couldn't say anything to make it better.

But there was nothing left in him to offer.

Later than night, after she had retreated to their bedroom, he had sat down in front of the heap of photographs, staring at the jumble of images in front of him. Birthdays, their wedding, holidays, vacations and outings, picnics and trips…

There was a story in there. The story of their lives together, of their daughter's nascent journey, right from the time she had been no more than a bump on Olivia's middle, to her first day in the world, her first steps, her first haircut, her blowing out candles on a birthday cake, her petting Nina's prize horse which she had promptly claimed as her own much to the older woman's amusement, her with Walter at the Pier, on the carousel.

Her in a bathing suit with Finding Nemo floaties attached to her little arms as he waded with her in the pool, keeping her afloat with his hands, trying to teach her how to swim.

"Don't let go of me daddy." She had said to him with a worried voice, even as she was excited to be in the water, the mixed look of mirth and apprehension rife on her face.

"I won't." He'd chuckled, as she moved her arms and legs vigorously, splashing chlorinated water all over his face, making his eyes sting. "But you won't need me to hold you for long. You're going to be swimming like a little fish in no time."

"Don't let go of me." She had repeated.

His eyes had stung from a different hurt that night as the memories had ravaged what was left of him, and then he'd dissolved into tears too, unable to keep up his charade of stoicism any longer.

He might have been close to mentally unhinged at that point, barely coherent or even aware of much, but he wasn't stupid enough to incur Olivia's wrath by putting the pictures back. So he had gathered them carefully, wrapping them in a linen sheet and then packed them all away into the trunk in the study.

For two months before they were ambered he had done nothing but dream of the day he would be able to hang those pictures back up, the day he would find her and bring her back to the house that for years had been their home, their sanctuary.

It had felt like a prison without her, without her tiny, noisy presence, running around everywhere, her thousand and one possessions popping up from underneath couch cushions, crammed into corners of the staircase, cluttering the passageways.

Like a force of nature, a ray of sunshine, she had touched every corner with her little hands and left her mark on everything within these four walls.

And without her, those very walls had felt like they would close in on him and suffocate him to his last breath.

But tonight despite everything, he doesn't feel that way.

* * *

He snaps back from his memories to look at Olivia, still lost in her own thoughts, barely aware of his presence.

"It's a shame there's no bubble bath to make it really relaxing." He jokes, trying not to dwell on the past. "I could have sworn I had gotten you a spa treatment basket just two months ago. Bath salts, scented oils… all the works. " He says, remembering all the times they had locked themselves in here and soaked in the tub together, letting the warm water relax them over a glass of wine, having lazy conversations about everything and nothing.

"You did." She nods, her eidetic memory remembering each detail of what he was referring to. "You were trying to make up for us having to work on the weekend we were supposed to go away."

"Right. We were going to go to Vermont and we had to cancel because of the usual craziness…" He nods with an obvious wave of his hand. "All things considered, I made a pretty thoughtful husband didn't I?" He gives her a sad grin.

Her eyes close briefly as she tries to get past his use of the past tense. She then meets his gaze plainly. "You make a very thoughtful husband."

A flash of something passes through his eyes, and she knows he hasn't missed her implication. He nods then, trying not to stare directly at his very wet and very naked wife averting his eyes to the floor instead.

She can't help but chuckle at his feeble attempt at courtesy, even though the deeper suggestion of his action tears at her heart with a pang. "It's fine Peter. You don't have to look away. For goodness sake, you saw me in my underwear after knowing me for all of a day. And we weren't even dating then." She reminds him.

He laughs, meeting her gaze, knowing she had a point. He moves closer to her, sitting down on the bathroom floor besides the tub, using the opportunity to observe her more closely, take in the way her body had become leaner, tauter, eliminating anything that could count for excess.

All the softness out of her was gone. The curves given way to sharper angles, the fullness of her face depleted significantly.

If he had been a good husband, he would have cared for her better. Made sure she ate and rested, ensuring she didn't reduce herself to the bare bones as she seemed to have.

She might have given him a free pass on his abject physical and emotional neglect of her, rationalized it in that logical and understanding way of hers, but there is no way he would ever forgive himself.

He had failed the only person who had ever needed him for him, for things other than his intelligence or his various talents. There was no excuse for it.

But if she'll allow him, he'll spend all eternity making up for it. He thinks.

"Did we ever really date?" He asks lightly. "When did we even have the time between saving the world on a yearly basis to do anything that would constitute dating? I don't even think I ever took you to the movies."

"We just jumped from zero to 360 I guess." She swirls the water with her finger and then looks at him, a thought occurring to her. "Can I ask you something?"

"Yeah…"

"Did you go on dates with her?" She gives him a sideways gaze, watching his face carefully. She doesn't bother making explicit who 'she' was.

"Yeah." He nods, without much emotion.

"What sort of things did you do?" She asks, genuinely curious.

At one time, she wouldn't have wanted to know. Wanted to keep the shutters on that painful episode tightly drawn, never to be revisited.

But sitting here in the bathroom of their old house, years later, she finds herself not caring about that so much anymore.

There were bigger threats to their relationship now, ones that made those three months entirely insignificant.

She almost finds it hard to believe that at one time, the most worrying aspect of her relationship with him, even when it was nonexistent, was the thought of her sister being interested in him.

"Not much. We went out for dinner a few times." He says, his fingers playing with the edge of the tub, eyes focused on the yellowed ceramic instead of her. "A U2 concert, we went ice skating once I think…"

"I would have enjoyed that." She says looking at him with a sad smile.

"I know you would have." He says his voice softer than before. "It's a shame we never got to do any of that stuff, like a normal couple. Gotten to know each other like that. Might have been fun don't you think?"

"Maybe if we survived this, we can find an ice rink sometime and go skating." She says pulling her hands out of the water, grimacing at the way they had turned pruney and shriveled.

"Sure." He laughs quietly. "I was going to teach Etta that winter you know. I wanted to teach her how to play hockey."

" You've wanted to teach her to play hockey since she could walk." She rolls her eyes at him.

"That's because hockey is awesome." He says a tad defensively, remembering her horror stricken face whenever he would suggest getting Etta interested in the game.

_"If you think I am letting my baby anywhere near that bloodthirsty, concussion causing frenzy you call a sport, you are so mistaken Bishop." _

"In hindsight maybe you should have, it might have actually helped channel some of her anger issues." She says with a tired sigh, still trying to grapple with what she had witnessed earlier today.

He doesn't say anything at that and she's actually grateful. The last thing she wants is to put him in the middle of the increasingly complicated relationship she seems to have entered into with her daughter.

Not when things between them were so shaky as it is.

But at least the candor wasn't lost, that frankness that had always been part of who they were. Olivia supposes it had something to do with the sheer absurdity of the situations they seemed to find themselves in repeatedly.

They had never needed to pretend with themselves or with each other about where they stood.

"Peter…"

"Yeah."

"Do you remember Nick Lane?"

He actually smirks, giving her a meaningful look. "It's very hard to forget somebody who tries to collide two universes together don't you think?"

She shakes her head at him. He really was entirely predictable at times. "I meant from before. From the previous timeline."

"Yes…him too. I remember him very well." He nods his grin widening. "You had a sex dream in the lab because of him. Don't think I'd forget an experience like that."

She gives him a look of mild reproach, before her face turns serious. "I keep thinking about him for some reason."

"Why is that?"

"He said something to me you know that day on the roof when we caught him…That sometimes what we wake up can't be put back to sleep." Her expression turns contemplative for a couple of seconds.

He doesn't respond yet, knowing she wasn't done yet.

"It's funny when you think about it, considering the situation we're in." She presses on then. "We woke up to this world and nothing's the same anymore and we can't go back now that we're here. Actually….it reminds me of that day John got injured in that explosion and I woke up in that hospital, to what happened to him, to where it led me, to everything since… there's no going back from something like that. "

"Do you want to go back?" He asks hesitantly, not knowing what she was implying.

Did she want to go back to before, before everything…before him?

"Do you?" She answers his question with one of her own.

"Not without Etta." He says without any reservation and she meets his eyes at that, a smile pulling at her lips. "I'd rather stay here in this messed up place with her than go back to clean air and coffee and a world without my daughter, no matter how easy or hassle free it was."

"I don't think I could either." She says, her eyes softening.

"I guess he had a point after all. Nick." He purses his lips, looking thoughtful. "Though, I have to say, that's a lot of mileage to get out of something someone told you at gunpoint."

"How'd you know it was at gunpoint?" She says surprised. "You weren't there with me."

"I read the case file." He shrugs defensively at the questioning look on her face.

"You read a case file? Since when do you read case files? You hate paperwork."

"I was worried okay." He concedes. "You didn't do so well with the whole ordeal and I just wanted to make sure we didn't miss anything so I'd know how to help if something like this happened again." He then reaches out tentatively to take her clammy hand in his, squeezing very gently. "Liv, what's going on? Why are you sitting here in a tub of cold water, thinking about Nick Lane right now?"

"Jealous?" She teases him, feeling herself calmed by that little contact.

"Maybe." He smiles at her, clasping her hand a little more firmly. "Come on, level with me. I know that look on your face. What's wrong?" He urges her, "Besides the obvious misery of having to live in this awful world, fearing for our lives and dealing with our very dysfunctional family life that is..."

She looks at his knowing expression, suddenly feeling a chill run through her spine. Suddenly she feels tired, very very tired of her existence. "I just…do you ever get the feeling that your life's not your own?"

"What do you mean?"

" I feel like all this time, all these years… all we've done is play these parts in things that are always so much bigger than us." She chews her lower lip, her eyes faraway. "Like we're fulfilling roles that someone else was writing for us all along and it makes me wonder if we ever had a choice in anything."

"That's not true and you know it." He says softly, though his tone is somber. "We always had a choice, to live our lives and we did live it..."

"Did we really?" She frowns, drawing her knees even closer, hugging herself, as she rests her face on her legs, considering him with a sideways glance. "This…. everything." She waves in the direction of the room. "Our house, our marriage, our family. It feels like an interlude from our actual lives, like some dream that we deluded ourselves into believing was real. We were just playacting…"

"Liv…" He reaches out a hand to brush the wet locks of her face. "What we had, it was real, it was very real and it definitely wasn't a dream. You know that."

She nods, and then asks him hesitantly. "We were happy… weren't we?"

"Of course we were." He cups her chin. "How can you doubt that?"

"I find myself doubting too much nowadays." She sighs, unable to express her anxieties. "For the first time, I don't know what my place is supposed to be in any of this, or what I am going to do about anything."

"That's something I can help you with." He smiles at her. "I have a lifetime's experience in not knowing what my place is supposed to be."

"So tell me then, what do I do?

"Well. You can do one of two things." He says, taking her hands in his. "You can run, a signature Peter Bishop move, though I doubt you'll find the appeal in that…"

She laughs. "Or?"

"Or, you can figure out things as they move along and just find your place again."

"That actually sounds more like a Peter Bishop move to me." She says, bringing her hand to run through his hair.

"It's okay Olivia." His voice is firm, comforting. "Nobody expects you to know how to do everything all the time. You're allowed to be confused and unsure and out of sync, just like everybody else on the planet."

"I might be allowed to, but I can't afford to feel that way Peter. Not now, not when everything's at stake." She sighs.

"When is everything not at stake exactly?" He rolls his eyes at her. "Come on, give yourself a break. You will figure this out, just like you always do. I know you." He rests his palm on her cheek, and she can't help but lean into his touch, closing her eyes.

"I am glad you do because I don't know myself anymore Peter." She whispers. "I don't how to be a mother to my daughter, I don't know how I am supposed to make sense of anything, I don't know how I am supposed to work outside my job or my badge. I don't know how I am going to fight something I don't even understand. How am I going to save this world when I don't have anything to save it with? The Cortexiphan is all gone from my system and as much I hated having these abilities I didn't understand, or didn't want… I can't help thinking that without them, there's nothing to me which can give us a chance. I have nothing special."

She cracks open her eyes warily, almost not wanting to see his expression at her being so weak, so unsure, but there's only gentle understanding there.

The pressure on her face from his calloused palm increases slightly. He sighs deeply, pausing for a full second before speaking, his eyes firmly locked into hers.

"Of all the things that make you special, having some perception altering drug in your system is not one of them. I have never known anyone who can do the things you do and it's not because of those superhuman abilities. It's because you're you Olivia. Because you're strong and brave and kind and you've never needed a badge or a gun or superpowers to be able to be that. You have no idea how truly extraordinary you are."

"How can you say that?" She asks in a dubious voice, taken aback by the startling conviction on his face. "I failed Peter. I failed and now this world is dying a slow death."

"You didn't fail then and you won't fail now." He tells her firmly." You can't hold yourself responsible for things out of your control. You're not alone. We're going to do this together and we're going to win and everything's going to fine."

"Will it really? Just tell me this…." She says then, feeling the warmth of his hand against her now very cold skin, wanting to take comfort in his words and not able to. "Do you really think we'll get our lives back? Do you think we'll ever be truly happy again?"

"I don't know." His voice is heavy, but honest. "I don't know if we'll ever be happy in the way other people seem to be, in the way people are expected to be happy. But I know we'll be together, and whatever else comes with that…happiness, or something else. We'll have that Liv."

"And that's good enough for you?" She asks then, her voice barely above a whisper, as she meets his gaze again.

"It's not good enough." He shakes his head, giving her an intense look, thinking back to that chest of photographs he had locked away all those years ago. "It's everything I'd ever dreamed of having. It's everything I had once and hopefully I'll have… We'll have again."

"Sometimes we can go back Olivia, you'll see. Sometimes we can go back."


	41. Chapter 41

The thing about Charlie is that he always knows.

He had known about John, and he had graciously kept his silence. Had been considerate to not chide her for her transgressions when every bit of evidence pointed to the possibility of her having been fooled by the man she had loved.

He knows her too well, knows the ways her mind works, the way she engages with the job.

He understands her silences better than her words.

"Do you trust him? Bishop…" He asks her casually one day as they sit at the bullpen, a few weeks after John's death, after she begins working for Fringe division.

"Which one?" She asks him, like she already doesn't know.

"You know which one." His voice is knowing, a tad too much.

She cocks an eyebrow at him in a wordless question, daring him to verbalize what exactly he was implying.

He shrugs by way of explanation, "Seems like a bit of a loose cannon that one."

"That he is." She nods in agreement.

"But…" He pauses.

"I trust him." She says with conviction. "I don't know why, but I do."

He nods. "That's all I needed to know."

* * *

"You were right about him you know." He tells her later as they're in the car one day.

"About who?" She's distracted in her own thoughts, thinking about what Lobe had told her.

"Bishop… he's surprising in his own ways."

She can't help a smile at his befuddled tone.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." He nods, telling her about the phone tap. "He seemed really willing about helping you out, even though you technically blackmailed him." He points out, and she knows he's watching her face for a reaction.

"He's not so bad." She manages to say in a bland tone.

"Do you think he'll stick around though?" He asks then, like he was echoing her own concern.

"I don't know Charlie." She shrugs, not letting on more than that.

"Let's hope he does." He gives her a reassuring smile. "He seems like a handy guy to have around. Don't you think Livy?"

She smiles and doesn't say anything.

* * *

It's started to rain, the cold water pouring down her face in rivulets. She's soaked in a matter of two minutes.

But Olivia shivers for a different reason.

Its how Peter finds her, on her knees, her gun still pointed towards the corpse who wears her friend's face and is bleeding silver mercury trails onto the asphalt.

He reaches out laying a hand on her shoulder, squeezing gently.

"Olivia…" His voice travels through the sound of thundering raindrops and her own painfully beating heart, and she glances at him, her face crumbling.

He bends down to meet her at eye level, the rain water leaving dark wet patches on his jacket, concern evident in his expression.

"Charlie…" Her voice is a broken whisper. "I killed him."

"It isn't him." He says, gently wrenching the gun from her hands, pulling her into a hug.

"It's not him." He whispers over and over again.

" Peter..." She pleads for something...anything. She doesn't know yet what that is.

" It's okay Olivia. I am here now. I've got you."


	42. Chapter 42

As he drives, Peter thinks about what Masey had said to him earlier.

_I have a lot to lose, you know._

_So do I…_ he can't help thinking to himself, his eyes taking quick stock of the passengers in the car. This was his entire family…. all in the line of fire, in constant danger. One wrong move and everybody he loved could be wrenched away from him. His father, his wife and his daughter.

There was a part of him, a very significant part of him that wanted to simply keep on driving that night, to some place where they would all be out of danger. Where he could keep his wife and daughter safe, far away from harm's way.

Maybe build a cabin in the woods somewhere by a nice creek and find some semblance of normal…

Except he knows the women in his life wouldn't take very kindly to such a suggestion. Olivia would most likely pistol whip him and Etta would simply laugh it off.

He's unable to stop himself from stealing a sideways look at her as she sits beside him with her tablet, plotting out the coordinates, having switched seats with Olivia a couple of hours ago to help him navigate.

The last time they had been in the station wagon, she had needed her car seat … a white and red one, with a panda motif on it.

She's packing at least two guns on her right now, and god knows how many more weapons.

He worries about his daughter. She has a volatile disposition, not unlike his own. Even as a child, he had seen a fire in her, a strong and somewhat wild spirit.

And given that she seems to have also inherited in ample measure, her mother's tenacity and resolve to go to any lengths for the good fight, it was a lethal cocktail for recklessness.

She needed some grounding, something to give her a sense a balance. Hopefully, Olivia will be able to give her that. The way she had done for him.

His gaze shifts to his wife, asleep in a rare moment of rest she had allowed herself though he has no doubts it wouldn't last more than an hour. She never did sleep well, except maybe during her pregnancy when she had really needed the rest, and her body had no choice but to give in.

He thinks about their conversation earlier, feeling that insane bout of anger course through him for the millionth time, anger at William Bell and Walter for doing what they did to her all those years ago.

As much good as her now latent abilities from Cortexiphan had once done for the benefit of this world and a couple of others, he knows the immense toll they've taken on her. The number of times he had watched her struggle with them, terrified of things she was doing that that she couldn't comprehend, suspicious of her own mind, of her own judgment.

He knew she had grappled with the prospect of motherhood. He hadn't been so obtuse as to not pick up on that. But he had always chalked it up to the anxiety any first time parent would face, and to Olivia being Olivia, always worrying about everything.

And after Etta was born… he had seen how good she was with her, how exceptional a mother she had been, always intuitive to her every need, her wellbeing.

It amazes him that she could ever second guess herself like that.

"You know if you're tired, I can take over." Etta offers, breaking him from his reverie of thoughts.

"That's okay I got it." He smiles at her. "You know what I could go for right now though? Some music." Experimentally, he pushes the eject button on the stereo, surprised when it opens out.

"I installed the CD player as a present for Walter; I know he kept some discs in the glove compartment.. see if you can find any." He tells her.

She picks one out and blows over the dust a couple of times. "Let's see if it works." She says sliding into the player

After a second or two of a glitching sound, piano keys resound and the beginnings of a slightly scratchy and off key_ Crazy_ begin to play softly.

"I love this song." Etta says with a fond expression, fiddling with the volume control, to make it a tad louder, but just so, so that she didn't wake up Walter and Olivia.

Peter's foot comes down hard on the brake pedal, as the car jerks a little, making Walter murmur loudly in his sleep. He gives her an apologetic look, trying not to look as freaked out as he felt in that moment.

"Really?" He manages to say evenly, a thin smile on his face.

"Don't you?" She asks with an expression so like her mother's and by extension of course…_ her _that he feels his heart lurch violently.

"I used to." He smiles sadly, steadying his hand on the steering wheel. "It … reminds me of something."

"What?"

"Oh it's nothing… it happened a very long time ago. A lifetime ago…really." He laughs uncomfortably. His eyes immediately waver to Olivia's reflection once again and he feels himself calm down almost instantly.

"You really love her don't you?" Etta asks following his gaze in the mirror, looking at him with a thoughtful expression.

She presses on, smiling at his slightly quizzical expression. "I saw how worried you were, when you thought she'd been infected."

"Well what can I say, comes with the whole in sickness and in health clause…." He jokes flippantly, but she simple shakes her head at him.

"I see it in her eyes too you know, the way she feels about you. She's very guarded about everything, except when it comes to you." She points out, a hint of curiosity lacing her statement.

"You're very observant, I'll give you that." He says in an amused voice. "But you sound surprised. Did you want us to be like every other set of parents and hate each other's guts?"

She laughs, shaking her head. "No, it's just you don't see that a lot nowadays." She gives him a sad smile, an almost wistful look on her face. "This world… it's not exactly a place where relationships have much meaning… let alone something like true love to base them upon. It's very rare you know. So it's nice to see it still exists. "

He smirks, unable to help himself. "Must be a sad state for romance if Olivia and I are your poster kids for love. And, I don't know much about your world, but in my experience true love is always a rare thing. A rare and frankly frustrating thing, I can tell you." He chuckles.

"It's hard to come across, and it's difficult to confront and acknowledge, it's downright maddening and absolute torture when it doesn't work out or something goes wrong. All said and done it is no walk in the park."

"You make it sound like such a joy." Etta says dryly.

"Well it is…" He laughs, his lips lighting up in a smile, as his gaze once again drifts to Olivia. "That's the weird thing you see. For all the aggravation it causes, it's more than worth it. Because you'll never feel as happy or complete as you do when you're with that person you know you're meant to be with, no matter what the circumstances. Even when you're trying to get quartz out of toxic mines that will kill you in minutes. So when you're lucky enough to find love, you make sure to hold on to it okay kiddo."

"Yeah sure…" She rolls her eyes at him. "That'll happen."

"You don't think you'll ever fall in love?" He asks, reading the cynical undercurrent of her response.

"No." She says flatly.

"What makes you so sure?" His voice carefully mild, not wanting to overstep his boundaries. A small part of him had doubts about Simon, about what exactly he had meant to Etta. It had made him awfully uncomfortable; because_ really_ the man was older than him and he couldn't even fathom the thought of his little girl being an adult in _that _way.

But as difficult as it was to grapple with the possibility, he didn't want his doubts confirmed for a very different reason.

For two minutes and forty nine seconds, he had lost the woman he loved more than anything in the world and he had felt unimaginable agony for every one of those seconds. And he didn't want her to be in that kind of pain.

"I don't have time for things like that." She says not unkindly, but in a voice that didn't invite further discussion.

"Well you're young. You don't know what'll happen in the future." He shrugs, giving her a smile.

"Actually I have a fairly good idea." She says without any emotion in her voice. "Eight out of ten resistance fighters will die before they're thirty. A little fun fact the observers like to point out in their PSAs. They ran the actual statistics and everything. It's very accurate."

Peter cringes at her words and grips the steering wheel tightly, trying to keep his emotions under control, as he sees her stare out of the window with an impassive face.

He thinks about the several impassioned pleas he could make right now to her, empty assurances about how he would protect her against all odds, let nothing happen to her like he used to tell her when she was a little girl.

But what feeble hope could he possibly offer her. He couldn't protect her all those years ago and despite how fervently he wished it so… there was no guarantee he'd do any better the second time around.

"That's a rather pessimistic outlook isn't it?" He says instead.

"It's also the truth." Her tone is dispassionate. "I can get killed today, I can get killed a week from now. It's something I remind myself every day, not because I am scared of dying, but because it drives me to treat every second as critical. I just don't need any distractions from what I have to do while I still have the chance to do it."

" Aah…the earnestness of the young and the rebellious." He remarks with a smile, taking in her serious expression, not surprised to see her accepting the possibility of her death with candor. "You know I really admire your zeal and as proud as I can be of you for having the courage to fight for what's right, what you call distractions Etta, those are the very things that make life worth living."

She smiles then, giving him an almost pitying look, her eyes empty, a blue void of nothingness. "That's easy for you to say because you've known something better once. But here… now…there's nothing that makes life worth living anymore, except maybe the belief that we deserve something better. It's not much, but it's what keeps us going. And that's good enough for me." She shrugs.

"You're probably right." He nods, gripped suddenly with an unshakeable sorrow as he thinks about the choice he had once made, all those years ago. The fragments of the future that he had glimpsed into that linger on in his consciousness like an old dream, of a little girl's drawing on a refrigerator, and a flaming funeral pyre floating away in the sea.

Ironic how he had sacrificed himself in the hopes of avoiding such a future, only to find himself years later in one far worse.

If it hadn't been for the sole fact that he had his family back.

"This universe is unspeakably cruel. It brings out the very worst in us; it crushes every chance of happiness that we could hope to find and it makes us feel like we're insignificant in the face of powers beyond us." He tells her, "I've seen a future like this once; I've known how terrible it can be. And yet…I've also seen people be happy despite that, find meaning in their lives because of what they had together, because of family, because of love…" He meets his daughter's eyes at that point, who is regarding him with thinly veiled incredulity, obviously not buying any of it and gives her a knowing smile,

"I know you're all hopped up on your let's save the world high and you probably think that that is the most important thing right now… but take it from someone who's done this a couple of times before, there's no point in fighting for a better world if you don't take the time to appreciate the things and the people in your life that give you something to fight for."

She nods slowly, not in understanding but in acceptance. "That's nice and all, but the thing is I don't…" She pauses, breathing deeply, correcting herself "didn't have anybody or anything in my life to give me something to fight for."

"Etta…"

She turns to her side and goes back to staring outside the window, falling silent.

"Is that why you fight?" She asks him softly, after a considerable length of time, her gaze still following the landscape outside.

Peter laughs quietly and nods. "You probably don't remember this but every night, before you went to sleep; we had this little ritual, you and I. _Na einai kalytero anthropo apo ton patera toy… _ I used to say that to you."

"What is that? Latin?" She asks curiously.

He shakes his head. "It's Greek."

"What does it mean?"

"It means… be a better man than your father. Something my mother you used to say to me. Something I was hoping to explain to you one day, despite the fact that it refers to a son and not a daughter. Not big on gender equality, the ancient Greeks." He remarks offhandedly.

"No..." Etta laughs agreeably.

"But I was hoping you'd appreciate the spirit of the statement." He presses on. "It's like this totem I've held onto all my life. It means keep the people you love close to you, take care of them. Sadly, I didn't do a great job of it though…" He shrugs.

"I am not a soldier you know, I never was. That was always Olivia's calling and maybe yours too. You're a lot like her that way. You believe in ideas, in the right thing….I never did. But Olivia taught me to believe in something bigger than myself, to see beyond my own selfishness and do what was right. And that's something I'll always be thankful to her for, because it drove me to do good things, to save lives, to find answers to questions, to reunite families and give people the comfort of truth about what happened to their loved ones, to find closure. But it also gave me something … it gave me a sense of purpose, some meaning, some happiness. That's why I did what I did."

He sighs and looks at her contemplatively, his face a map of conflicting emotions. "But you asked me why I fight? And to be honest the answer has very little to do with wanting to overthrow the observers or making this world a better place. It's simple really. I fight for you, for your future to be different from this. I want you to have every chance at happiness. I want you to know more than survival and loss, to know love and the good kind of pain. I want you to experience this life, live it the way it's meant to be lived. Do things, go places and have opportunities to see and experience everything this world has to offer." He says with determination, his grasp on the steering wheel deathlike, as he looks at her, an old hope flickering in his eyes. "I've wanted so much for you since the day you were born…and the only way I can give you any of that is if I make this world better, safer and freer for you. So you see Etta, that's why I fight...because I want to be a better man than my father… and I want to a better father than the man I was."

He sees the pain in her eyes as he finishes speaking, the way she averts her gaze away, running a furious hand across her face, obviously in a bid to stem tears no doubt, trying very hard to keep a brave front on.

"And also because I want to have my own comic book someday." He then jokes in an attempt to lighten the tone of the conversation, making her giggle, even as she continues to dab at her face.

"Even sidekicks should really get at least one issue featuring them don't you think?" He asks her lightly.

She laughs, nodding. "I would definitely want to read that. Though for the record, you're not a sidekick, not even close."

"Yeah?"

"You're a hero." She tells him, her smile childlike, proud, leaning over to give him a quick peck on his cheek.

"You're my hero."


	43. Chapter 43

_They don't experience time the same way that you and I do_

He could go back… he wants to. He could change the events of the past. He could ensure they never lost her that day at the park.

He wants to do many things… but he knows he can't. Even when blinded by grief and consumed by the thirst for vengeance, he knows that much.

He knows better than most the consequences of playing with time and space. Knows how one small event can set off a chain reaction, change the entire fabric of the present.

But he can't stop himself from wanting just one chance with her. One chance to tell her everything he never told her.

It's how he finds himself here, in this moment.

He sees her face in the warm hues of her nightlight as she sleeps, lost to the world and in that moment, he almost forgets everything that's happened.

He forgets he has already lost her not once but twice. He forgets, he has seen her die in front of his eyes.

He forgets everything and simply watches for a few seconds.

She's moaning softly, her head tossed sideways, as she fidgets in her blankets and he realizes she's having a nightmare.

He lays a hand on her stomach shaking her gently.

"Etta…" he whispers. " Etta wake up kiddo."

"Daddy…" She squints sleepily, rubbing her eyes and looking at him with a perplexed expression.

"Hey…" He smiles at her, bringing a hand to her face, as he strokes her cheek, trying to get his hand to stop trembling.

"You and mommy were gone. I couldn't find you." She says her voice still confused as she looks at him, her eyes now fully open.

"It's alright kiddo; it's just a bad dream. It's okay now. I am here."

He lifts her out of bed and takes her into his arms, pulling her as close as he can, pressing his nose against her hair and inhaling her sweet baby scent, struggling to keep his emotions in control.

He shuts his eyes tight, allowing the tactile feel of her arms around his neck to transport him far away from his present day pain. He can feel her steady heartbeat against his and almost unconsciously he begins to count each one of them, trying to convince himself she was alive after all.

"I've missed you so much sweetheart." He whispers, threading his hands in her hair, as he kisses her head repeatedly.

"Daddy…" She shakes her head at him with confusion again, looking at him like she would so often do when he acted goofy on purpose, like he was some sort of idiot. His daughter never did suffer fools, he remembers. "You just saw me at bedtime."

"But that was five hours ago." He grins good naturedly at her logical response, nudging her nose with his finger. "And it's too long for me to go without missing you."

She nods, intuitively understanding that sentiment. "Why are you hurt?" She asks then, bringing a hand to his lip, where he had been injured earlier.

"It's nothing." He shrugs, pressing a kiss to the hand that was hovering over his cut with concern. "I'll be fine."

"Maybe Mommy can kiss it and make it all better." She says, touching the corner of his lip gingerly, her voice still anxious on his behalf.

"She sure can." He nods, remembering then that he didn't have too much time. Olivia and a past version of him were right down the hallway and if he wasn't careful, his wife would walk in here and take him out without a second's hesitation.

As he would expect she would, if she found an intruder in their child's bedroom in the middle of the night bearing the face of her husband, thanks to shape shifters and doppelgangers.

But he can't bring himself to hurry. He wants to savor this. Every second of this time he has chanced upon. He wants to hold her forever like this and never go back, back to that future where there was nothing left.

"Why are you smiling so much?" She scrunches her nose at him, her face in a questioning expression.

He drops a kiss on her nose, making her giggle "I am just really happy to see you."

"But you see me every day."

"I know, but I am especially happy to see you right now."

"Then why do you look so sad?" She puts both hands on either side of his face, staring at him like she can see into his soul.

He hopes she doesn't see what he has become, how low he has fallen. She hopes he doesn't see the monster lurking beneath his eyes, the one he has invited into his mind.

"For the same reason."

"How can you be happy and sad at the same time?"

"Sometimes you can." He tells her, his voice hitching in his throat.

_Sometimes you can feel like your heart is being ripped out from your chest and at the same time, feel the kind of joy you never thought you were even capable of anymore._

"You have no idea how special you are." He tells her then, running a hand through her cheek.

"I am?"

"Yes you are. You're special because you're my baby."

"I am no baby daddy." She shakes her head emphatically, making her displeasure evident with a pout. "I am a big girl."

He laughs; blinking away the tears that were threatening to no longer stay unshed. "I know you are." He tucks an errant blond lock behind her ear. "You're a very big girl. And you're going to grow up and be so beautiful and brave and smart… and I am going to be so proud of you." His voice by now is a strangled whisper, as he remembers what he had come here to do in the first place.

"I want you to do something for me Etta. I want you to remember this okay. I want you to remember that I was here tonight, remember how much I love you. How much I'll always love you. Even if I am not with you all the time. There's nothing in this world I won't do for you and I want you to remember that. Can you do that for me kiddo? " He asks her, tilting her face upwards by her chin to meet his gaze.

She nods quietly, her eyes taking on an intensity that Peter was sure he was imagining, because she couldn't possibly know...

He kisses her forehead, pulling her closer in his embrace. "I love you more than anything in the whole world."

"I love you too daddy." She says returning his hug with equal enthusiasm though the last bit of her sentence is drowned out by a tired yawn.

"I am going to put you back to bed okay?" He whispers, beginning a rocking motion that was as instinctive to him as breathing.

He rocks her gently till she's asleep again, and then holds her for a few more minutes, trying to muster the strength to leave this place.

"I am so sorry kiddo…" He lays her back on the bed and pulls her covers up; looking at her peaceful face, finally allowing himself to shed his tears, "I am so sorry I couldn't protect you. I couldn't save you. I am so sorry."

He kisses her one last time, running his hand to smoothen the hair he has mussed up.

He stands up to leave, back to that present waiting for him, back to the path of revenge that he was intent on travelling even if it destroys him.

He's altered now, changed. He's more than what he was, but he's also less for it.

He can only hope that the consequences of what he has done aren't irreversible. That the memories of his child will keep him tethered to his humanity…

Whatever little there was left of it.


	44. Chapter 44

She's tired. Every muscle in her back is painfully sore and stiff and her bones are ready to sag from exhaustion and at this point Olivia thinks she could fall asleep standing.

Wearily, she pushes open the door and makes her way to the living room, shrugging off her suit and letting it drop to the floor. She kicks off her shoes with more abandon than usual and peels off her socks, ready to drop on the couch and probably sleep until the end of the weekend.

Except that the couch has already been occupied by her husband and her daughter, both of whom are fast asleep with Etta sprawled out over Peter's chest with her usual recklessness. She might have worried that she would have fallen off if it wasn't for his firm grip holding her in place.

The sight of the two of them makes her smile despite how cranky and tired she was feeling just a minute ago. Gingerly, so as to not wake them up, she sits down beside them and untucks her shirt, loosening a couple of buttons at the top.

But Peter stirs anyway, cracking one eyelid and then another. He offers her a sleepy smile.

"Hy, where have you been?" He asks softly, moving a little to make room for her as she stretches out next to him, resting her legs on top of his. He puts his free arm around her and pulls her closer.

"Working. I had to finish up all that paper work. Where have you been?" She asks with a tired smile on her face, her eyelids drooping.

"At home. Etta and I played Halo all evening." He says his eyes closed once again.

"Glad to know it was a very productive day for you."

"It was. I won, three to nothing. It was epic."

She snorts at the pride in his voice, her hand coming up to rest on his chest as she pats it lightly, right above Etta's head. "Congratulations, you won against a small child. That must give you such a sense of achievement."

"Hey, she has to learn that the world is a harsh place." He shrugs.

"And she'll learn that by playing a stupid video game with her hyper-competitive father?"

"First off, it is not a stupid video game and secondly I am not competitive." He says defensively, a small smile playing on his lips.

"You're a grown man and you actually played to win against your three year old daughter. Is there something that I am missing?"

"I let her beat me at Operation last week." He points out.

"You didn't let her do anything Peter. She completely destroyed you." She chuckles.

"That's what you think."

"That's what I know."

He sighs in put on defeat and then looks at her with a sideways glance. "Do you want some dinner? There's pasta."

"Mmm…" She shakes her head. "I don't think I have any energy to even chew." She burrows further into his embrace, her eyes closed at this point.

"Just as well. Your daughter wanted to play chef, so she dumped a bag of M & M s into the sauce. I swear she's inherited Walter's propensity for thinking up weird foods because I can guarantee you that in any universe, ours or other ones, Marinara and chocolate do not go together."

"I bet you ate it anyway." She smiles fondly, her hand drifting down to stroke Etta's head.

"Well she thought it tasted great and… you know I couldn't hurt her feelings." He shrugs.

She rolls her eyes at him. "Sucker."

He simply grins at that and then looks at her. "So Etta said the funniest thing today." He says casually, his hand joining hers as they absently stroke the little girl's hair gently.

"What did she say?"

"I asked her what she wanted for Christmas this year and she said that she wanted a baby sister."

"Yeah?" She doesn't open her eyes fully, her voice deceptively light. She can read the obvious enthusiasm in his voice.

"Yeah, she promised me that if we had another baby, she would be the world's best big sister. Just like mommy is to Aunt Rachel."

"Really, she said that?" Her eyebrows arch in surprise, as she regards the sleeping child with a smile she can't help.

"No I clearly just made that up." He deadpans with a wry tone.

"Shut up." She thwacks him lightly on his head.

"Of course she really said that Liv… why would I lie to you."

"No I guess you wouldn't,"

"So what do you think we should do about that?" He then gives her an impish smile, a challenging look in his eyes.

"Do about what?" She feigns ignorance, her gaze still focused on her daughter.

"About what Etta wants."

"I think what Etta really wants for Christmas is that puppy that she saw at the pet store last week, and this is her way of making sure we get her one."

"You really think she's capable of that kind of manipulation." He cocks an eyebrow at her.

"Considering you're her father… absolutely."

"Well, maybe the next one will take after you and be all forthright and honest and purer than snow."

"Or maybe she'll be even more devious and a bigger troublemaker than this one here. Have you considered that?"

"Ever the optimist, aren't you? What if she turns out to be the best-behaved, easy to manage, saintliest child ever? What then?"

Olivia sighs tiredly. "Peter, lately, it feels like I barely get to see the one daughter that we do have. Please don't pull me into an argument about a hypothetical one we don't have as of yet."

"Fair enough…we'll do this another time." He says, looking at her with more attention and concern, as he drops a kiss on her forehead. "You look exhausted. Why don't you go on upstairs and get some proper rest. We do have beds made for actual sleep and everything."

"Hmm…" She nods, looking wistfully at where her hand was joined with Peter's, over Etta's head. "It's not fair."

"What isn't?"

"That you got to spend the whole evening with her while I had to fill out stupid paperwork."

"I know…" He says giving her an understanding smile.

"I tried so hard to finish early so I could get home for dinner and spend time with her but it's no use. I am just a terrible mother."

"Stop that. You're a great mother and you know it." He chides her.

She scoffs at that, not feeling convinced by his attempts. "Really, then how come I haven't been able to see her once when she's actually awake for the last three days."

"Because we've had a crazy week." He retorts. "This evening was the most I got to see her in a while as well. It sucks but it is what is." He then gives her a mock-haughty look and quips dryly. "It's okay Olivia. It's understandable that at times you're intimidated by my kickass dad skills. There's no shame in admitting it. It doesn't make you any less good at parenting." His voice is teasing and she can't help but smile.

"Yeah, that's what it is…" She rolls her eyes at him. "And also what dad skills? You don't know the first thing about discipline."

"My parenting style doesn't really call for discipline."

"Doesn't call for really anything except agreeing to Etta's every whim and fancy."

"That is categorically untrue." He says defensively.

"Says the man who ate M & M pasta for dinner." She replies without missing a beat and then sighs, her expression almost anxious. "I feel like I am missing out on so much time with her Peter." She says worriedly. "It's time I'll never get again."

He smirks at that, not unkindly though. "You'll have plenty of time Olivia… she's only three. You have years ahead of you."

"Years I'll probably spend working late nights." She frowns unhappily. "I really hate our jobs sometimes."

He laughs. "I hate our jobs almost all the time. You know what you could always do though right?"

"What?"

"You could just quit. We both could and then we could all stay together all the time." He says cheerfully.

"And how do you propose we pay for things like food and necessities to support ourselves and our daughter?" She asks.

"We get jobs…you know the non-insane kind." He says wryly and then looks at her with a softer expression, as he brings a hand to cup her face gently. "You're not a bad mother for having a demanding work life, and what you do is important. You keep people safe. Don't ever feel bad about that."

"I know. I just wish it didn't keep me away from her so much. It's a good thing that at least we work together, or we'd never see each other." She says with a thoughtful expression.

"Maybe we should start bringing Etta with us to crime scenes from now on. Make it a family thing. She spends way too much time in the lab as it is." He offers.

"Yeah, that sounds like a great idea." She snorts. "Take a toddler to fringe event investigations. You know just in case social services didn't have enough grounds to think we're crappy parents for letting her have free reign in Walter's house of crazy."

"I'd say considering the weird things I've seen. She's much safer there than most places." He points out. "It'll be fine Liv. I know, how about this. We'll do something fun this weekend. Just the three of us. Like maybe a picnic at the park. We'll stay outside all day. Etta will love it."

"That sounds nice." She says, yawning, unable to keep her eyes from closing any longer, as she moves closer into his embrace.

Peter chuckles. "How about we get you to that bed now Dunham? It's nice and comfy and actually made for two people."

"Hmm…' She shakes her head mumbling sleepily. "Mm good here."

"Alright then, couch it is." She hears him say. "I'll let you sleep comfortably." She feels him shift as if to get up and immediately halts his movement by tightening her hold round him and Etta.

"Stay." She whispers. "Don't go."

She's already asleep, but she feels him move around, as he obviously tries to make the best of a cramped situation, being as tall and long limbed as he was with the added complication of their daughter blissfully asleep atop him, before sighing and ostensibly reconciling himself to whatever was least uncomfortable. But he stays put anyway, pulling a blanket around the three of them before he drops a kiss to her forehead.

"Night Liv."

She smiles in her sleep and nods, allowing him to adjust his embrace around her, knowing she wasn't in any danger of falling off the edge because he would hold onto her, just like the firm grip he had on Etta with his other hand.

Tomorrow they would go the park and have a picnic like Peter suggested, she thinks. And she'll spend the whole day with her daughter. And then, later in the night She and Peter could maybe seriously talk about another baby, or at any rate practice making one.

Tomorrow will be a day for family, she thinks.


	45. Chapter 45

_This is a horrible idea…_ Olivia can't help thinking as she watches the two of them.

Peter was usually good at things, very many things.

But this…. not so much.

She hasn't seen him fail at something so miserably since, well she hasn't seen him fail at anything really.

The man just didn't grasp the concept of moderation, even if it announced itself first and then hit him over the head with a very heavy object. He either didn't give a damn or he cared too damn much.

And he certainly didn't know the meaning of the word as far as their daughter was concerned.

To say he's an indulgent father is to say the sky is blue or the earth was round. As far as Peter is concerned, he existed solely for adhering to Etta's every wish and demand, there is nothing he would deny her, no limit he wouldn't breach to make her happy.

And as endearing and sometime exasperating as she finds it, it puts her in the unfortunate position of having to play bad cop to balance Peter's bleeding heart tendencies.

She's been waiting in vain for him to develop some back bone when it came to their daughter, keeps reminding him gently that saying no to her sometimes is not a grave war crime like he seems to believe it is.

The message seems to have stuck because he's finally decided to take a stand.

Unfortunately for everyone concerned, he's picked the wrong battle.

And unfortunately for Peter, his disciplining skills very simply put….suck.

And it has Olivia wondering whether she should have ever asked him to venture into this territory at all.

The matter is simple really, or seems to be from what she can make out over the shouting match between her daughter and her husband. Something about a birthday party invite involving zip lines and Peter not allowing Etta to attend because of course he thinks it's too dangerous.

Reasonable enough, except Peter seems to have forgotten that his decision conflicts with his hitherto unbroken streak of saying yes to everything Etta wants.

And Etta's predictably not very happy about it. She's red-faced, angry and stomping her feet not happy about it.

If you were an average parent, you sat your kid down and explained to them in a calm and rational manner why and how you came to your decision.

If you were Peter Bishop, you apparently acted like a child yourself and proceeded to start an argument that you have no hopes of winning with a three year old who has inherited in full measure her father's tempestuous nature.

And so Olivia watches the dueling Bishops for ten minutes with an impressive calm from her seat on the couch. Watches with a mixture of helpless amusement and mild apprehension as a 35 year old grown man wrangles with a toddler who is just as stubborn as him and who has apparently made up her mind to not concede to his authority even just a little bit.

Her daughter will make one hell of a rebel. She doesn't know whether to be proud or to worry.

...

"Henrietta Dunham-Bishop, You're not going, end of story. I don't want any more arguments on this. You listen to me, understood." He ultimately says with an unconvincing semblance of finality.

"Why?" Etta quips, her blue eyes unyielding and hard, locked into a weird staring contest with Peter's identical eyes, the massive height difference between them notwithstanding, as she considers her father with a stormy expression. Her cheeks have turned red and her lips are pursed in a petulant pout.

They look so alike, it's a little scary.

"Because I am your dad and that's what kids do. They listen to their parents."

"Why?"

"Because I am older."

"That's not a real reason daddy." Etta almost scoffs and Olivia has to resist the urge to laugh.

Her husband, whose logical and scientific reasoning were so exceptional and befitting his genius IQ, was being called out by a child on the tautological weakness of his statement.

"Yes it is, I am older and I am smarter than you. I know lots more stuff than you do." Peter says adamantly.

"You don't know everything." Etta says her decibel level slightly higher and more frustrated. "You didn't even know all the words to Little boy blue. I taught you how to sing it."

"But I know quantum physics. Do you even know how to spell that?" He asks her with a hint of challenge in his voice that makes Olivia bury her face in her palms.

He was really pulling out all the stops on being stupid about this.

Etta huffs, before retorting. "Someday I will, I am going to be older too and then I'll be lots smarter than you and then you won't be able to tell me what to do."

"Yeah well… you gotta long road ahead of you kiddo. Until then I am afraid I am the one in charge." Peter says with a smug smile on his face.

Olivia doesn't miss the quiet flash pass through Etta's face, before she sighs. "You're mean daddy and I don't like you very much." She says angrily before turning around and marching up the stairs.

"That's just great…" Peter rolls his eyes and then finally looks at Olivia. "Did you see that?"

"Oh yeah." She says dryly. "Hard to miss."

"Can you believe that?" His voice is incredulous.

"Of all the things I've been asked to believe, that one's fairly easy to believe." She says calmly, going back to her book, as Peter flops on the couch next to her.

"You're enjoying this aren't you?"

"You trying to be tough dad…. It's better than cable." She chuckles, patting his thigh lightly.

"A year ago she was barely out of her diapers and now she's talking back to me." He sighs in disbelief. "Where does she get all that anger from anyway?"

Olivia snorts at his surprised tone. "You seriously don't know the answer to that Peter?"

He cocks an eyebrow at her, frowning slightly. "You're saying I am to blame for this?"

"I am not saying that." She shakes her head. "I am just saying she's definitely your daughter, in all the good and the bad ways from the looks of it. This reminds me of you and Walter in the early days, when you guys used to fight."

Predictably, he looks horrified at the suggestion. "Oh, don't say that. I am nothing like Walter."

"You're everything like him and she's everything like you." Olivia's unable to stifle a small laugh at his distressed expression. "She even has your flair for dramatic exits. Next thing you know, she'll start calling you by your name and make wise cracks all the time."

"Oh God, please don't tell me I am turning into my father…." Peter groans, burying his head in her shoulder.

"It'll blow over." Olivia shrugs.

* * *

As it turns out, she's wrong. Their daughter is not one to easily forget her anger.

All through dinner, Etta refuses to speak with Peter pointedly ignoring all his efforts to make conversation with her, as she excitedly chatters to her mother.

And Olivia tries hard to curb her amusement at the whole situation, as she watches her husband pick at his food with a crestfallen expression.

Sometimes she wonders if she has one kid or two.

"How do I fix this?" He whines to her later, as he helps her load the dishwasher.

"I thought you were an engineer. You're telling me you don't know how to work a dishwasher?" She asks.

"I am not talking about the stupid dishwasher Liv. I am talking about Etta. Why won't she talk to me?"

"Why do you think?" She rolls her eyes at him.

He nods in comprehension and the looks at her hopefully. "You have to talk to her."

"I don't have to do anything. I am not getting in the middle of this." She shakes her head at him.

"Oh come on. You're good at playing peacemaker. Remember all those times you refereed between me and Walter."

"Need I remind you nearly bit my head off all the times that I tried to do that?" Olivia says pointedly.

"Oh come on Liv please…" He nearly begs, looking in that instant like a puppy which has just been kicked or worse, and Olivia sighs knowing resistance is futile.

If she wasn't sure where Etta got that particular trait from, she sure as hell is now.

"I am not making any promises."

* * *

"Hy baby… it's time for bed." Olivia calls out, as she walks into the nursery to find Etta sitting on the floor, busy with her sketchpad and crayons.

"What's that you're drawing?" She asks as she bends down next to her daughter to look at the paper on which Etta was furiously shading using her purple crayon.

"It's a picture of you and me."

"That's pretty." She remarks, remembering that she was supposed to be Peter's envoy of peace. She asks then casually. "Doesn't daddy get to be in it?"

"No." Etta shakes her head, her voice as curt as was possible for a toddler.

"Why not?" She asks, feigning curiosity.

"Because I am mad at him." Her daughter says with decisive nod, the set of her jawline tense and entirely Peter like.

"At him? I thought he was your favorite person in the whole world."

"He's not anymore and I am never ever ever talking to him again." She shakes her head resolutely.

"Well that's too bad." Olivia says, lifting the little girl and settling her onto her lap. "Coz I bet he'd feel really sad about that. You don't want him to be sad do you?"

She can see the conflict in her eyes, before she shrugs. "Tina's mommy got really mad with her daddy and now he doesn't live with them anymore."

"And you're telling me that why?" Olivia asks with a wry chuckle, as she tucks a stray strand of hair behind her daughter's ear.

"I think daddy should go stay with Grandpa Walter at the lab from now on." She says.

Olivia raises an eyebrow at her suggestion, but hides it quickly with an understanding nod. "We could certainly ask him to do that. But won't you miss him if he went away?"

"No I won't." She pouts in petulance and then puts her arms around Olivia. "It can be just you and me from now on Mommy…. and we can get a puppy." She adds excitedly.

"So?" Peter asks her anxiously looking up from his book, when she makes her way back to their bedroom after putting Etta to bed.

"Well, she's gunning for me to kick you of the house. She wants you to move in with Walter and replace you with a puppy." Olivia informs him with an amused smile.

"A puppy? Seriously." Peter looks almost outraged. "I am her father, I gave her life and brought her into this world and she wants to replace me with a dog?"

"Evidently." Olivia nods… "And _you_ gave her life and brought her into this world?" She looks at him with a disapproving stare.

"Okay that was mostly you," He concedes looking a little contrite under her glare. "But I helped and this is the thanks I get?"

"Suffice to say she doesn't let go of grudges easily. Like someone else I happen to know."

"Wow, she must really hate me huh?" He muses dejectedly.

"She's three Peter. She doesn't understand hate. She's just upset at you because for the first time in her entire life you've denied her something. That's usually been my job so far."

"Well then how come she never gets mad at you." He raises a curious eyebrow at her.

"Because, I know how to be a parent without acting like a child. You really could have handled that better you know." She points out, climbing into bed next to him.

He sighs unhappily. "So since I've been served marching orders already, should I pack my bags?"

She shakes her head, bending down to kiss him on the cheek. "Well lucky for you, I still like having you around."

He grins crookedly, pulling her closer, as he wraps his arms around her waist.

"Thank god for that. I can't have two Dunhams mad at me at the same time."

* * *

"She still won't talk to you huh?" She asks him when she comes to the lab the next evening.

"How'd you know?"

"You look like you've lost your best friend in the whole world." She says, feeling her heart cringe a little at his woe stricken expression as he sits there in the office, fiddling with the Gyro Wheel toy Walter had given him along with the rest of the old birthday presents.

She feels bad for him, despite how comical the whole situation was.

He nods frowning. "It's like all of a sudden, I am invisible. Today when I went to pick her up from preschool, she didn't even look at me."

"I am sorry. That must not be fun." She says, gently, all the desire to make fun of him gone as she brings her hands on his back as he leans back into her embrace and audibly sighs.

"Did you try to talk to her?" She asks.

"I did. I even tried to apologize, but she wouldn't even acknowledge my presence. What if she hates me for the rest of her life?" His voice is muffled, as he turns around to bury his face in her shirt.

Despite her intentions to remain sympathetic, she can't stifle the snort that escapes her at his dramatic question.

"Peter… you know that's not going to happen. She'll have forgotten about all of this by Sunday, let alone remember it for the rest of her life."

"You really think that?"

"Your father lied to you for twenty six years about who you really were and you managed to forgive him. I think you can be optimistic about your chances."

"What if she runs away from home to another universe?" He says then, looking slightly worried.

"I thought we agreed we weren't letting her cross into any universes till she's at least 21." Olivia jokes. "Come on Bishop, stop moping around. It'll be fine."

"I know. It's just…. I don't like it when she gets upset with me." He says sullenly.

"Nobody says you have to like it." Olivia shrugs, sitting down beside him. "But she's a person, a little person but a person all the same and she's entitled to her feelings and right she's not feeling very happy with you."

He nods half-heartedly, his expression turning contemplative, almost sheepish as he looks at her. "Do you think this is how Walter used to feel, when I was a jerk to him all those times."

She smiles sadly, knowing he has probably been torturing himself over this for some time now.

"I think you and Walter were slightly more complicated than for me to simply say yes or no to that." She squeezes his hand gently.

"You said we were alike." He points out. "And I am like him. I have the same flaws as him. The same arrogance, the knack for ignoring consequences. What if Etta and I turn out that way Olivia? What If I am just not cut out to be a good parent? What if this is just the beginning, what if I screw this up with her and we drift apart? What if we end up not talking for seventeen years… or worse, she …"

"Hey… hey…" Olivia interrupts his rant, taking both his hands in hers. "Stop right now." She tells him firmly. "You're blowing this way out of proportion. You both are. I am going to talk to Etta and you guys are going to call a truce."

"I thought you weren't getting in the middle."

"Well looks like I have to, before you drive yourself crazy with your daddy issues." She says dryly. "I can only handle one mad genius in my life at this point." Then she looks at him with a more gentle expression. "You have to stop doing this Peter. Stop believing you're going to mess up. You've been waiting on yourself to screw up since the day we found out we were having Etta."

"I let her slip into the tub the first time I tried to give her a bath. She could have almost drowned." He reminds her.

"Yeah, she was in the water for like a second and she clearly didn't drown. She's alive right now isn't she?" Olivia says blandly. "Peter, stop with this already. Etta adores you. Yes, she's mad at you right now, but she'll go back to worshiping the earth you walk on in no time at all."

"But what if…" Peter begins to protest feebly but is cut off by the sound of Etta's voice as she runs into the office.

"Daddy look what I found?" She says in an excited voice holding up an old action figure, all traces of her earlier anger gone.

"Where did you find this?" Peter asks with a slightly baffled smile, partly because Etta was actually talking to him and partly because of what she was holding in her hand.

Olivia looks at the slightly chipped G I Joe which Etta hands to him, immediately remembering where she had seen it before.

"In Grandpa's room." She moves closer climbing onto his lap without any hesitation. "What's he called daddy?" Etta asks curiously, as she contemplates the toy in his hand.

"That' Joe. His name is Roadblock." Peter explains to her his expression more cheerful than before and looking a little less like he was a funeral. "He was my favorite growing up you know." He tells Olivia.

"Can I take him home?" Etta asks cheerfully, considering the toy with some amount of interest.

"Well, you'll have to ask your grandpa about it." He smiles at her, handing the toy back to her.

"This is Grandpa's?" She asks somewhat surprised.

"No, but it belonged to somebody he loved very very much." Peter smiles sadly. "I had one exactly like this though. Except it had a scar on the other side."

"Do you think he'll let me have it Mommy? Just for today? I promise I won't break it and I'll bring it back tomorrow." Etta turns her gaze to her mother, looking at her hopefully.

"I don't see why not. If you ask him nicely." Olivia smiles, knowing very well Walter would probably give her a kidney if she asked for it.

Etta nods, clambering off Peter's lap and then looks at him tentatively, her expression slightly anxious, as she chews her lower lip. "Will you play G I Joes with me today before bedtime daddy?"

Peter nods, grinning from ear to ear at that. "You know what, that would make my day kiddo."

She giggles at that and runs off, shouting at the top of her voice for Walter no doubt to get her toy.

"She's not mad at me anymore. Did you see that?" He points out, his eyes literally sparkling with glee.

"Yes, I saw that." Olivia squeezes his hand taking in the goofy smile still plastered all over Peter's face, unable to help a chuckle herself. "Well what do you know? All it took was a silly G I Joe to end the battle of the Bishops."

Peter scoffs at her comment. "Have you actually played with G I Joes Liv? They happen to be awesome." His face lights up with childlike enthusiasm as he gets up. "You know what; I bet Walter has more of my…" he stops himself abruptly before continuing "more old toys I can show Etta. I am gonna go check his storage boxes."

He turns around looking at Olivia with a doubtful expression almost mirroring the one Etta had worn a few minutes ago. "Do you think he'll let me have them, Walter?"

Olivia simply smiles understanding where his apprehension was stemming from. After all, they never really ever spoke about him... the other Peter. "I think he'd be very happy for you to have them Peter."

He nods hopefully. "They're for Etta of course." He then shrugs defensively, trying to look nonchalant.

"Of course." Olivia nods somberly, fighting the urge to laugh desperately. "For Etta…"

Later that night, she finds them both in the nursery playing with the various action figures Peter succeeds in pilfering from the lab.

In all honesty, Olivia can't tell who is enjoying the toys more, Peter or Etta.

She leans against the doorway, just watching the two of them for a moment, back to their normal antics, taking in the unencumbered happiness writ all over Peter's face to be back in his daughter's good books again, before walking over to join her husband.

"Looks like I don't have to leave the house after all." He whispers in her ear when she sits beside him.

She nods, laughing. "Good. Because I didn't really want to go through the trouble of training a dog." She rests her head against his shoulder, sighing in relief that peace had prevailed in her house after all, before remembering what started the showdown in the first place.

"Peter…"

"Hmm..."

"I think it's best if you let me handle the disciplining from now on because your approach clearly needs work."

" Yeah." He nods without hesitation. " How about you take lead on that from now until she's moved out of the house and no longer our problem."

"Agreed."


	46. Chapter 46

_"Daddy, can girls play with G I Joes?" _

_"Of course they can. Why do you ask that?" _

_"A boy at school said girls can't play with action figures because girls are weak and don't know how to fight." _

_"You should introduce this boy to your mom. That ought to shut him up. He sounds like a total as… never mind."_

_"Daddy I am not weak am I?" _

_"Of course not. You're my fierce little warrior."_

_"But warriors are big and strong. How can I be one?"_

_"But you're brave and you're never scared of anything. You're smart and you're very very strong here." He had said poking a finger at her heart. "And as long as you're strong in there, you don't need to be big to fight."_

She's strong she tells herself, as she feels the world fade to black.

* * *

Etta doesn't fear death.

She fears nothing really. All her fears have disappeared.

Because all her fears have been realized, every one of them… and there's nothing left to be afraid of anymore.

She's seen all her worst nightmares come to life, stare her in the face and then ravage her innocence, over and over.

That's why she doesn't get scared anymore.

She had been scared once. The day she loses her parents. For days she's terrified and for days she sees the world differently, sees everything around her glimmer with a strange amber flicker.

At first, she tries desperately to be brave. Like her parents would have wanted her to be. But her courage fades with each night she sleeps in a different shelter, with every day she lines up with the rest of the children for the inspection of anxious parents who come looking for their lost kids, calling out names.

Her courage fades as does the flicker.

She is shoved and bundled into trucks and jeeps and buses with countless children, constantly moved from one camp to another, from one shelter to the next.

She just has to be patient and wait, she thinks as she watches a young boy run to his father, takes in the heartbreaking relief on both their faces.

They'll come for her. She'll be found too.

Her pretty white dress and jacket are long soiled and ripped from the chaos. She stands with the other kids patiently, as the social worker rummages through the pile of old clothes in the carton and hands her a shirt and a pair of faded denim overalls that are too large for her making the strap fall of her shoulder every five minutes. One of the grownups at the first shelter she's taken to folds the bottom of her pants for her after she trips the first time she tries to walk in them, and hurts her elbow.

"Try not to make too much of fuss, will you kid? We got enough problems as it is." The man says to her in an irritated voice as she stands there, eyes stinging with unshed tears, trying hard not to wince as he roughly dabs some antiseptic and puts a band-aid on her wound.

_Don't make a fuss… don't make a fuss. _

That's all she hears from everyone, everywhere she's herded to and at first she doesn't understand it because she's really not causing a fuss. She's on her best behavior like her parents have taught her to be and tries very hard to be a good girl, she always says please and thank you to everybody , even when the grownups around her are anything but nice to her and the other children.

But she's a quick study and she soon understands far more than any three year old should. She learns that to the people whom she's been entrusted to, she's nothing more than a tiresome burden. That nobody really cared if her clothes were too big for her or if her hair was starting to get tangled because it was uncombed.

As long as she was breathing and documented for at the end of each day, they were doing their jobs properly.

She learns quickly that don't make a fuss really means try hard to not take up any more space than you absolutely must.

For the first time in her young life, Etta experiences what neglect is like. Goes from knowing the devoted attentions of her parents to the lackadaisical attitude of the strangers around her.

She's always hungry because there's never enough food for everybody in the shelter and it doesn't taste very good. Certainly nowhere as good as what her parents or grandpa can make. But she eats anyway because the nice lady, one of the few around here, who gives them their lunches and dinners tries very hard to make sure all the kids eat something at least, even on days when they're so little food and she doesn't want to make her sad.

And it's better than the days when they don't get dinner at all.

In the nights, she sleeps on hard mattresses that leave bruises on her hands and legs and wraps herself tight in the thin and scratchy blanket that doesn't do much to keep the cold away. But she doesn't complain and simply shuts her eyes tight and tries to think of home.

She thinks of her parent's soft, springy bed, with the creamy, warm duvet. Of how she would sometimes run into their room during thunderstorms and bury herself under the covers. Daddy would reach in and pull her up by the leg tickling her till she screamed with laughter and then tuck her in between him and mommy.

She reminds herself of her mother's comforting lavender scent enveloping her, her long blond hair teasing her cheek when she tucks her head under her chin and holds her close, as she lays warm and safe between her parents, her father's long arm draped over her and her mother, holding them both in a loose but secure embrace.

Of Saturday mornings when they cuddle together and watch cartoons while daddy brings them breakfast in bed.

She thinks of the large tub in their bathroom and how nice it would be to take a warm bubble bath in it. She usually doesn't like baths so much but she'd give anything for one right now, for her mother to gently rinse her hair for her while she draws on the tiles with her bath crayons and then to bundle her up in a big fluffy towel.

_"There you go baby, nice and clean. That wasn't so bad now was it?" Her mother would say to her as she dries her hair for her._

_"I am not a baby." She'd protest, even though she secretly loves being called that by her mother._

_"Yes you are." Her mother would laugh, kissing her on the nose. "You're my baby. All mine and nobody else's."_

_"Daddy's too?"_

_"Yes daddy's too. But just a little bit." _

The deafening silence of those dark nights is occasionally broken by the muffled sobs of somebody crying.

Someone always cries every night. But she doesn't. She won't cry, she tells herself sternly. She's not a baby. She has to be brave.

She plays her mother's soft and husky voice in her head singing to her every time she hears the sobbing; she recalls the tunes of the piano her father likes to play for her, the sound of his laughter.

Through everything she holds on to the memories, to the feeling of being loved and protected because she thinks if she can just hold on, she'll make it out of here, she'll find her way back to them.

* * *

Three months later, the camps begin to wind up and she's informed by a social worker that she's going to be put into foster care and live with a couple.

She blinks, taking in the woman's words, trying to understand what was happening. She's thinner now than before. Insufficient nutrition having depleted her of all of her baby fat, her cheeks have lost their healthy color and her hair has grown lusterless with no one to brush it lovingly for her, hanging limp and messy just below her shoulders. In another pair of hand me down two sizes too big for her, she looks nothing like the sheltered, well-cared for child she had been just a few weeks ago.

Etta panics when she hears her. She can't go. "But how will my mommy and daddy find me if you send me away ?"

"We'll alert them about your new location if anyone comes looking for you. I am sorry Etta, but we can't keep you here any longer."

"But I've been good." She says disbelievingly, hot tears making their way down her cheeks. "I didn't make a fuss even once." She points out.

She had done everything that had been asked of her. She had stayed out of trouble, obeyed every order. Never complained even once. She pleads with the older woman, promises to be better.

But no one listens to her.

She has to be brave, she tells herself again. Her parents will find her no matter where she goes.

* * *

"What's the matter? Do you not like pancakes, Etta?" The woman asks her kindly, as they sit at breakfast the first morning and she watches the little girl pick at her food listlessly.

"My grandpa makes them for me in the lab." She offers softly, trying hard not to cry. It's been weeks since she's actually had a hot breakfast and still, she can't bring herself to eat with enthusiasm.

"Why does your grandpa make you pancakes in a lab?" The man asks in a slightly curious voice.

"Because he lives there, with Gene." She shrugs.

"Is that your grandma's name?" He asks her.

"No… Gene's his cow." Etta explains shaking her head, at the woman. "She's white and black and moos a lot. But she'll let you pet her if you feed her a red vine."

"That's nice." The woman says nodding uncomfortably, unable to think of a response.

"He has a porcupine man too." She offers, biting into her food with a little more zest.

She misses the look the two adults exchange with each other.

At first, she feels so lost in this house. Even more than in the shelter though the couple she's been sent to live with are nothing but nice to her.

Everything feels different and alien to her. The walls are a different color; the furniture is not the same. The people are different too…

Her foster parents couldn't be more different from her parents Etta thinks. They're older and somewhat shy, quiet and meek people. The ones who'd probably avoid conflict at all costs rather than jump headlong into it. Even though she's too young to recognize it, she knows they don't have the same magnetism her parents have, or their charisma or swagger.

But they take very good care of her. They get her proper clothes and supplies, toys and books, enroll her in a really good school and genuinely seem to like her and spend time with her.

Her foster mom adores her from the day she's sent to live with them, and Etta in turn is very fond of her, even though she's nothing like her mother. She's much older, mousy and timid and very soft spoken. She's rather plain looking, certainly nowhere as strikingly beautiful as Olivia, her movements lack the latter's agility and sharpness.

But her eyes have a similar kindness and warmth to them and uncannily a similar sadness.

"How come you don't have a baby of your own?" Etta asks her one day as she brushes her hair for her.

"Because I can't."

"I am sorry."

"Don't be." She shakes her head with a sad smile. "You have such beautiful eyes, you know that."

"Mommy says that to me all the time." Etta says to her. "They're like daddy's. He's very tall and handsome." She tells her proudly.

"I bet he is."

"When he takes me to the park, all the other mommies come and talk to him. They think he's handsome too. I've heard them." She says smiling before her expression falters and she is suddenly hit with the image of her father running towards her that day in the park as she stands in the middle of the crowd, frozen and scared.

The next minute she bursts into uncontrollable tears, crying for over an hour, inconsolable while her foster mom struggles to calm her down. She cries so much that she finally passes out from exhaustion.

"It's okay Etta." She hears her foster mom say gently, when she stirs. "You're safe now. You don't have to be afraid. We'll take care of you."

And they do, they take care of her in every way a child needs taking care of. They love her and cherish her.

But they're not them, her parents. The ones she knows love her like only they can. Even as her memories begin to slip, she doesn't forget who she is, doesn't forget who they are, what they mean to her.

* * *

"You know we love you so much Etta. We've been discussing this a lot and we'd be so happy to adopt you. Be part of our family permanently. Wouldn't you like that?" Her foster mom asks her two years later, her face beaming with anticipation, on the anniversary of the day she had come to live with them.

It's the closest thing to a birthday celebration she gets because no one knows for sure when that was.

"Adopt me?"

"Yeah it would mean we get to be your real mommy and daddy from now on."

"But I have a mommy and daddy." She says firmly.

"Etta, we don't know where they are or even if they're…"

"I have a mommy and daddy." Etta says again like she doesn't hear anything before running away from there.

Etta knows she has hurt her. She can see the pain in the other woman's eyes, and she really wishes she wasn't the cause of it.

But she can't give up on them. Even if her life was comfortable in every way and she could just forget everything and be happy here, she just can't.

"What are you doing Etta?" Her foster mom asks her later that night, when she comes into her room the next day and finds her stuffing clothes haphazardly into her school backpack.

"I am packing my things." The tone of her voice is obvious.

"Where are you going?"

Etta looks at her with a sad, understanding smile on her face. "It's okay…" She nods, putting on a brave front, speaking in the most grown up voice she can manage without letting it tremble. "I know you're going to send me away."

She can be strong. A fierce little warrior, just like daddy said she was. Even if they made her go back to the shelter.

No matter what… she won't cause trouble, won't make a fuss, she tells herself.

"Why would I send you away sweetheart?" Her foster mom asks looking at her with an incredulous expression.

"Because I can't let you be my real mommy." Etta says with a sigh, looking away. She doesn't want to see the anger and disappointment.

Doesn't want to see rejection, even though she's certain it's there.

She's no longer wanted here, she can't be…

Her heart feels so heavy that she thinks she might just sag from the weight of it. But in the first of many times to come, she pushes the pain away and simply rolls a sweater into a crumpled heap and stuffs it into her already bursting bag, thinking she would need it if they sent her away someplace really cold.

Like she had been in the shelter at nights, her body almost shivers as she remembers.

But to her surprise, her foster mom laughs quietly, coming closer to rest a hand on her shoulder. "Honey I love you and I want to be part of your life. I don't need to be your real mom to do that and I certainly am not going to send you away."

"So you're not mad at me?" Etta asks more surprised than relived.

"No, I am not mad at you." She wraps the little girl in a tight hug, holding her close. "Your parents are so lucky to have an incredible daughter like you and I am sure you'll find them someday. But until the day they come for you I'll be here for you. Okay?"

* * *

As the blood leaks out of her chest and she feels her body weakening, Etta thinks of nothing else but her parents. Thinks of all those lost memories she had held onto so stubbornly in the shelters, now returning to her.

She thinks of the new memories she has now. The little things that bring a smile to her face even now. Of the moment her mother's eyes chanced upon her and Etta had known she'd been made.

Of all the people who have found her over the years, Broyles, Nina, Walter, even her father….

No one had been so quick to recognize her like the woman in front of her had.

She'd seen the shock register in her eyes, before they immediately wavered to her dad for confirmation. Seen the myriad of emotions going through her face as he tells her what she already knows.

"You're beautiful." She had heard her say in that wonder struck voice as her eyes roamed over her face with desperation trying to place no doubt the little girl that she was when they were last together.

"So are you…"

And Etta had smiled, though the tears had begun to trail down her cheeks already, as she found her way back to her mother's arms after twenty one years, her embrace so delicate and unsure, so different from her father's who had held onto her like she was a part of him.

She suddenly remembers watching her mother getting ready for work in the early mornings, in her bathrobe sitting in front of the mirror, as she ran a comb through her hair and applied the lightest layer of lip gloss on.

"You're beautiful mommy." She would say to her proudly. "Daddy says I look just like you, does that mean I am beautiful too?"

"Yes sweetheart, you're beautiful too. You're so beautiful."

* * *

"I love you so much…" She hears the resolve in her mother's voice.

" I know…"

she'd always known.

_"Mommy how much do you love me?"_

_"More than anything in the whole world."_

_"More than daddy?" _

_"As much as daddy." _

_"Does daddy love me as much as he loves you?"_

_"Oh no baby. He loves you lots lots more."_

She sees her father crumbling in front of her, desperately trying to keep her alive, unwilling to let her go. Sheer terror seeping through him from every cell of his body like it had been that day at the park when he was running towards her.

She wants to tell him she's fine, that the pain is not so bad because he's holding her hand, because her mother is there and because she knows she is loved.

_I am going to be fine. I am your fierce little warrior. I am not weak._

_I am strong, _she want to tell him.

But the words don't make it out.

She's already gone.


	47. Chapter 47

"Look mommy, I changed into my jammies all by myself. I am a big girl."

Olivia looks up from her laptop to see Etta standing there at doorway of her bedroom.

"You sure did. You're such a big girl." She says smiling at the look of accomplishment on her face, knowing very well that at this given moment, the drawers in the nursery would have been ransacked and clothes strewn all over the floor for Etta to have fished out that particular set of pajamas.

"Why don't you go pick out a book and I'll be in to tuck you in just a minute okay." She says.

She sees her daughter chew her lower lip thoughtfully before giving her an imploring look.

"Can I sleep in your bed today please?"

"I thought you were a big girl?" Olivia says in a teasing voice. "Don't big girls sleep by themselves?"

"It's not for me mommy." She shakes her head vehemently. "I just don't want you to be scared at night because daddy's not here." She explains.

"Is that right?" Olivia says knowingly. "Well, that's very sweet of you to make sure I don't get scared. Come here." She gestures, overturning the blankets on Peter's side as Etta promptly crashes into the bed with gusto.

She goes back to her report, while Etta watches her curiously for a few seconds, before speaking up,

"Mommy…"

"Yes."

"When will daddy be back?"

"Sunday evening."

"That's a long time."

"I know it is."

"Can we call him?"

"Sweetheart you just spoke to him on the phone an hour ago, remember."

"But I want to talk to him again."

"You can't just now. He's on a plane."

"When will he get off the plane?"

"It'll be at least a few more hours. It's a long way to LA."

"Can we call him then?"

"It'll be past your bedtime by then."

"Can't I stay up late just for today?"

"I am sorry honey but you can't."

"Why not?"

"Because little girls need their sleep or you'll be tired all day tomorrow and daddy promised to call you first thing in the morning didn't he?" She reminds her.

"But that's tomorrow and I miss him now." Etta sighs.

"Already?" Olivia resists the urge to scoff. "Etta, He's only been gone four hours."

"Four hours _is _ a looong time." She emphasizes, making her eyes go wide before sighing in frustration.

"I suppose for you it is." She laughs quietly.

"Mommy…" Etta starts again after a brief… a very brief moment of silence.

"Yes?" Olivia says, somewhat distractedly, her attention on the screen in front of her.

"Where is LA?"

"All the way on the other side of the country."

"Why did he have to go so far away?"

"Because he and grandpa are working on a very important case for the FBI."

"I don't like the FBI." She says firmly.

"That's okay. Your daddy doesn't like them sometimes too." Olivia says, before she turns away from the screen and takes in the miserable expression on Etta's face.

"It's okay baby. I know you miss him. I miss him too. But he'll be back in no time. Okay?" She nudges her nose playfully.

Etta nods in a half-convinced way. "Do you think daddy misses us too?"

"I am sure he does. He loves us too much not to. In fact I bet he's sitting on his plane right now, thinking about his little Etta and what she's doing."

"He thinks about you too right?"

"If I am lucky. You're sort of the star of your father's thought processes." Olivia jokes.

"Don't worry. He loves you too, mommy." Etta tells her comfortingly, missing the sarcasm of her mother's words entirely.

"Is that right? Well, thank you for the memo darling. It's always good to have that confirmed." Olivia says unable to help a smile at her daughter's attempts to reassure her.

"Why do you love daddy?"

"Oh, I don't know, why do you love daddy?" She asks taking her glasses off as she shuts the lid of her laptop, knowing attempting to work like this was futile.

"Because he's my daddy." She shrugs, as if that statement was self-explanatory in itself, making Olivia smile.

"That's a very good reason." She nods. "You're a very smart girl."

"Is that why you love him too, because he gave me to you?"

"Ok, your dad did not give you to me." She shakes her head in amusement. "That was all me. I was the one who gave you to him."

"You did? Where did you find me?"

"No sweetheart, I didn't find you." Olivia laughs. "Daddy and I made you together."

"How?"

"I'll tell you that when you're a little older." Olivia clears her throat, glad that that particular conversation was a little further down the road from the present. She pulls her closer, shifting her onto her lap. "Anyway I got pregnant… and then for nine months, you lived inside me before you were born."

"I did?" Etta exclaims, her eyes going wide with disbelief.

"Yes you did." Olivia says, taking Etta's smaller hand and pressing it against her belly. "See. Right here. You used to be in there."

"But I can't fit in there mommy." She says with a worried look, as she scrutinizes her mother's washboard stomach with a skeptical gaze.

"Not now you can't. But you were much smaller then." Olivia says tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear, sighing as the memories hit her like yesterday. "You were a tiny little baby and I got to keep you all to myself before you were ready to come out into the world."

"Did you like that?"

"Not all the time." Olivia says honestly, stroking her hair gently, as Etta curls up against her chest, with a tired yawn. Instinctively she begins a slight rocking motion. "But yes, for the most part I loved it. Having you was one of the most special experiences of my life."

"Really?" Etta looks up from her spot, with an elated almost proud look on her face.

"Yes really." Olivia nods, nuzzling her head. "The day you were born was one of the happiest days of my life, because after waiting for so long, I finally got to meet you."

"Were you happy the day you met daddy?"

Olivia's smile dulls a little as she considers her daughter's innocent question, thinking about the circumstances under which she and Peter met and how it was as far from happy as she had ever been. She never lied to Etta unless when absolutely necessary but she didn't want to exactly get into that story with her three year old.

"I am extremely happy that I met him." She says carefully instead.

"Did you kiss and fall in love after you met him like in a fairy tale?" Etta asks her face curious.

"No…" Olivia rolls her eyes at her daughter. "Real life is not like that. When I first met your dad, I didn't even like him."

"No way." Etta gasps, making Olivia almost snort; knowing the thought of anybody not liking her sainted father was outside the realm of possibility as far as her daughter was concerned.

"Yes way." She nods, taking in her shocked expression, before giving her a reassuring smile. "But once I got to really know him, I liked him very much."

"And then you kissed?" She says eagerly in a way that was almost reminiscent of Walter, when he would gush with unabashed enthusiasm at Peter and her. Ever the champion of her parent's relationship, any intimacy between her and Peter was a source of great interest and amusement to Etta, firmly convinced as she was that her mommy and daddy were like characters in some epic Disneyesque romance.

"No… and then we became friends." Olivia explains. "He became my closest, most trusted friend. He still is."

"So you didn't fall in love with daddy?" Etta says with a disappointed sigh.

"Of course I did. I fell completely and head over heels in love. I just didn't know it for a very long time."

"When did you know mommy?"

_Which time_….Olivia thinks to herself in private humor as she remembers all those moments in the first two years, her heart had fluttered with that feeling when she looked at him and never really acknowledged said feeling.

"A long time ago, daddy was gone. Nobody knew where he was. I was very worried about him and I missed him so much. That's when I realized how much I loved him and wanted to be with him. So I went to find him and bring him back."

"And then…?"

"We finally kissed." Olivia nods in confirmation, answering the question she knew Etta would ask yet again.

Her daughter predictably breaks out into giggles at that, before giving her a somewhat chastising look.

"You took too long mommy." She shakes her head in mild disapproval making Olivia laugh.

"You think so huh?" She asks, giving her a little tickle, making her giggle even more.

"Yes…you should have kissed him much much before." She nods in some internalized wisdom. "And then daddy would never leave you and be gone and you wouldn't miss him and be sad." She points out knowingly.

"I wish things were that simple sweetheart." Olivia sighs, feeling a slight tremble in her heart as she thinks of all the times she almost lost Peter. "And daddy didn't leave me per se. He just left. He tends to do that a lot you know. Well he used to anyway." She shrugs, noting the confusion on Etta's face, as she tightens her hold over her daughter. "The important thing is we're together now and we have you. You're my reward for 'taking too long' as you so helpfully pointed out."

Etta simply offers her a sleepy smile in return, curling up further against her chest as her eyelids begin to droop with telltale signs of slumber.

"Alright I think it's about time for bed, wouldn't you say?" Olivia says rolling her onto the mattress gently.

"Mommy… daddy will call me tomorrow won't he?" Etta asks, as Olivia pulls up the blankets around her.

"Of course he will."

"And if I am still sleeping then you'll wake me up when he calls right?"

"Yes, I'll wake you up."

"You promise?"

"I promise." Olivia rolls her eyes at Etta's worried expression. "Now close your eyes tight and try to go to sleep, so that it can be morning soon." She kisses her forehead gently.

"Good night sweetheart."

* * *

After her second cup of Chamomile tea fails to do the trick, Olivia lies in bed thinking how damn difficult it was to follow the advice she had dished out to her daughter just a few hours ago.

She is tired, she really is but she can't fall asleep no matter what she does.

She's almost ready to give up and just go back to doing some work downstairs when her phone lights up, alerting her to a call.

She picks up without glancing at the number, knowing it could only be one person.

"Hey…" She hears Peter's voice.

Almost involuntarily, her lips curve into a smile.

"Hey… yourself. I know you're on the west coast right now but do you know what time it is here?"

"Umm it's late…"

"It's very late. I could have been asleep you know." She points out.

"Yeah, like you actually ever sleep." He says, not in the least contrite.

"I am not a vampire Peter. I have a very demanding job and an equally demanding toddler. I do need my rest."

"Except you're not good at getting any. And you never sleep well without me anyway." He says nonchalantly.

"Don't flatter yourself. I just happen to be up right now because well…."

"Save it Dunham." He says breezily. "I know you're wide awake, probably running over some details of case in your head, and also pining for me just a little bit."

"Think what you want." Olivia sighs, not in the mood to take his bait even though the sound of his voice was making her feel better already.

"I always do. Why are you whispering?"

"Because Etta's right next to me, fast asleep."

"Thunderstorm?"

"No… just her way of coping with your absence. She asked about you a dozen times. I swear, the way she acts, someone would think you'd been gone for twenty years or more."

On the other end of the line Peter chuckles. "Poor thing. Give her a kiss for me will you."

"I will." She says. A moment of silence passes as she waits for Peter to say something.

"So?"

"So...Did you know the state bird of California is a quail? I just read that in the hotel brochure."

"That's fascinating Peter. Is that why you called? Because you had an overwhelming urge to share that information?" She says in a dry voice.

"No… I called because I miss my wife and wanted to hear her voice."

"At 2:00 am in the morning after a six hour flight? You can't possibly miss me that much."

"It's only 11:00 here and yes it's completely possible for me to miss you that much." He says defensively. "Remind me again though, why you're not here with me, in this totally sweet four star room the FBI is paying for. Did I mention there's a pool?"

Olivia smiles picturing the suggestive smirk on his face he's sure to be wearing. "Oh I don't know, possibly has something to do with federal laws that require little kids not be left home alone, even if their parents work for Fringe division."

"You know Astrid offered to take her so that you could come as well."

"I know she did and it's okay when it's just for a night or so. But she's too little to be left alone for a whole week Peter. Plus you know how she gets when she doesn't see us for too long." Olivia reminds him.

"Yeah I guess you're right."

"How was your flight?"

"Uneventful, thankfully there was no turbulence, so I and the rest of Delta's valued passengers were spared Walter's histrionics."

"That's good to know. Is Walter okay?"

"He's fine. Fell asleep as soon as we got here. He did make a point of letting me know just exactly how many types of viruses and human residue were swarming around in the mattress. Always delightful information to have." He says wryly.

"Well, that's Walter for you."

"At least he's not hiding in the closets or reciting the Fibonacci sequence anymore."

"He's come a long way since then." Olivia says thinking about the time Walter had had that episode in that hotel room.

When Peter was gone… it almost made her shudder, how broken he had been without his son.

How broken they both had been.

"We all have." He says contemplatively, not obviously aware of what she was thinking about. "I was actually thinking of that case we had in Seattle."

"Yeah…what about it?" Olivia thinks jogging her memory for the details, trying to remember how it was relevant to their current case.

"Yeah I was thinking that night when I came to your room, we should have totally done it. Had some glorious head banging hotel room sex."

Olivia laughs out loud at his flippant remark before remembering the other occupant of the room. Clearing her throat, she lowers her voice again.

"What a coincidence. Your daughter is of a similar opinion."

"Say what now?" He asks in a surprised tone.

"Not the head banging part of course." She explains. " But I told her about how we got together."

"You did?"

"The non-classified, sans alternative universe version of course." She clarifies. "She wasn't very impressed that I waited so long to make my move on you. Apparently, I should have kissed you much much before. Her words."

"That's my girl." He says proudly. "She's so wise for her age. What do you know? Genius doesn't skip a generation after all."

"Not with the Bishops apparently."

"Jokes aside, we should really think about submitting her IQ test scores to Mensa." He says suddenly. "You think they'd take her right? I know the age limit is 14 and above but they make exceptions for really smart kids and Walter was always pushing me to join since I was like seven… and I read recently that they accepted a two year old."

"Peter…" She interrupts his monologue.

"Yeah?"

"You're rambling. You know that right." She says in a patient voice, her eyelids beginning to pull as she finally stars to feel sleepy.

"I have an inkling, yes..." He chuckles self-deprecatingly.

" You've had a long flight and you're bound to have a long day tomorrow. I can hear it in your voice. You're tired. You need to get some rest and allow me to try and get some too."

"I suppose I should." He sighs. "It's just...it's weird sleeping in a bed without you. Actually it's weird being away from you."

"I know." She smiles at his words.

"There was a time when I lived out of hotel rooms…"

"I know that too."

She hears him sigh before he asks her in more somber voice, "What happened to me Liv?"

"You grew up. Congratulations. It was bound to happen sometime after you hit 30." She says stifling a yawn.

"No I mean, when did I become that guy?"

"That guy?"

"Yeah you know… that guy who calls at 2:00 am because he can't help himself." He pauses for a second before clearing his throat. "Sometimes, I get worried that if you're not in my line of sight all the time, you'll simply disappear, or I'll disappear or something equally catastrophic will happen. Is that crazy or what? I mean I should be able to go a few hours without seeing you and not keep thinking the worst has happened right?"

"For most people yes." She tells him understanding, exactly how he felt. "But I think we're allowed to be a little paranoid."

"You think?"

"Get your work done and come home. I'll still be here. I promise." She tells him firmly, knowing that somehow, no matter how stupid it sounded, he needed to hear that.

"Thanks for saying that." He then sighs audibly. "I guess I should hang up now huh?"

"If you want. Unless you'd rather I left the line open, so that you can listen to the sound of my breathing while I sleep." She teases him

Predictably he laughs at that and she can see him roll his eyes in her mind. "Thanks but I am not nearly that obsessed with you."

"Keep telling yourself that." Olivia chuckles, as she closes her eyes now, too sleepy to keep them open. "Remember you need to call Etta in the morning before she leaves for preschool. She'll have my head if you forget."

"Yes. I'll call her. Anything else?"

"If you bump into some Hollywood star, don't flirt with her." She mumbles.

"I won't. But I can't promise some Hollywood star won't flirt with me. And then I'll just have to flirt back or else it'll be rude."

"Is that right?"

"Yeah and while we're on that subject, what is the rule on models? Because I have one staying right next door whom I ran into in the hallway. She asked me to stop by for a nightcap in her room, anytime I wanted apparently."

"Did she happen to see that nice and shiny wedding ring on your finger?" Olivia frowns somewhat unhappily.

"Oh yeah… didn't seem to bother her particularly. So what do you think I should do about that standing invitation she made." He asks playfully.

"If you ever want to set foot in the house or see your kid again, you'll find a way to resist that particular standing invitation." She tells him flatly, without any real anger in her voice though.

"Jealousy is very unbecoming, Agent Dunham."

"Then don't mess with my head this late at night. Peter, I really am tired." She says stifling a yawn again.

"I know you are." He says good-naturedly. "I am going to stop annoying you and let you sleep now okay."

"Hmm…you know what Etta asked me tonight?" She says suddenly remembering the conversation from earlier.

"What?"

"She asked me why I loved you."

"What did you tell her?" He asks mild curiosity in his voice.

"Nothing. I couldn't think of any reason."

"And isn't that the best reason." He says warmly.

"I guess it is." She smiles, her mind already shutting off.

"Goodnight Peter."

"Goodnight sweetheart."


	48. Chapter 48

"And we just had the best time antiquing. You guys should really try this place out."

"You know June, that sounds like just what we need. I keep telling Liv we really need to do catch up on our antiquing. How long has it been since we did that honey?" Peter throws a fake grin at Olivia who's wearing that glassy eyed, polite expression she always wore when she was forced into social situations she didn't want to be in.

She laughs, nodding at their hosts. "It _has _been a while." She then shoots her husband a stern expression, not missing the way his eyes were dancing with mischief.

"You like antiquing Olivia?" June turns to her, a placid smile on her face.

"Does she like it?" Peter answers before Olivia can say anything. "She lives for it. Just the other day, she was telling me how she would quit her job and just go antiquing all the time if she could. Do you remember that sweetheart?"

"I did say that, didn't I?" Olivia nods, bringing her hand to join his on the couch, where she squeezes it tightly, applying just the kind of pressure to make it hurt, using a trick she'd learnt during her combat training for the FBI. She smiles in pleasure when she hears his knuckles crack rather audibly.

"You gals should go together sometime." Mark, June's husband chimes in. "Make a weekend out of it. There's this great place down at Cape Cod. June absolutely loves it. She's always bringing back the most amazing finds. And they have candle making classes."

"Oh wow candle making… that sounds very exciting." Olivia says evenly, keeping her tone neutral.

The expression on his wife's face is so priceless, that Peter takes an extra-long sip of his wine to hide his snort from their hosts and ends up having a small coughing fit.

"You okay there Peter?" June asks worriedly.

"Oh yeah…. I am just great." He nods, giving the woman a dazzling smile. "I was just so overcome at the thought of Olivia making candles with you in Cape Cod, June. That sounds like just the kind of vacation she so desperately deserves." He deftly untangles his hand from her hold before she can hurt him again, throwing her a wink.

"Aww… isn't your husband the sweetest." June sighs, looking at Mark with a gratified expression.

"Oh yeah." She nods, giving him a murderous glare. "He's an absolute peach." She says politely, before feigning disappointment, "And that trip sounds absolutely delightful. But you know, I work crazy hours. Scheduling would be a nightmare. Isn't that right Peter?" She turns to him, giving him a look which said _you better back me up on this, or there will be hell to pay._

"There is that yes." Peter nods, knowing he had just added years to his lifespan by not baiting her any further even if it would have been so much fun. "You know, this is the first weekend we've actually had together in a whole month. I work with her and even I don't get to see her as much as I'd like."

"That's right. You work together… for the FBI right?" Mark nods a curious expression on his face. "How does that work out for the two of you?"

"Well, she carries a gun and tells me what to do and pistol whips me if I don't do it, so it works out pretty well." Peter shrugs. "It's not that different from our marriage really."

Their hosts exchange uncomfortable looks at each other, staring at the two of them with forced grins.

"That's a joke." Olivia says after a second, unable to stifle an amused grin at the look of shock on their faces.

"Yeah, she actually doesn't pistol whip me." Peter deadpans, his lips twitching desperately with laughter. "She does carry a gun though. That part is true."

June gives out a nervous giggle, nodding in understanding, though it's clear from her expression that she doesn't. "Is that how you two knew each other? From work?"

"Well I guess you could say that." Olivia waves her hand vaguely.

"Mark and I met each other at…"

"… an antiquing fair?" Peter finishes her sentence for her.

"at Somerville, How did you know?" She gives him a delighted smile.

"Wild guess…" he says his tone rife with incredulity, the sarcastic undertone of his voice only apparent to Olivia. "Olivia and I met in Iraq."

This time as if on cue, both of them start laughing for a couple of seconds before June looks to her for confirmation. " Isn't that a joke as well?"

"Oh no that's one true." Olivia says blandly.

"That's... unusual and exciting." She nods, swallowing uncomfortably, as she stands up, smoothening her plaid dress nervously. "I am going to go set the table and we can eat in a few minutes. Mark can you help me?" She motions to her husband, as he gets up and follows her to the kitchen.

"That sounds fantastic." Olivia smiles at her, as they both leave the living room, before she turns to look at her husband with a disapproving expression.

"What are you doing?' She whispers furiously.

"I am having fun, or at least I am trying to. It's not my fault these people are ridiculous." He chuckles, his voice low.

"They're not. They're nice people Peter."

"They look like they jumped out of a J-Crew clothing catalogue. And that woman scares me. It's like she's trying to win a Stepford wives contest. Her hair doesn't even move, Olivia."

"Peter…"

"I would give Broyles a kidney if he called right now and asked us to drive four hours to look at some mangled, bloody, disgusting thingummy. That's how much I don't want to be here. I mean they spoke about Colonial era water jugs for fifteen minutes Liv. It's stupid. "

"You're being really impossible you know that." She gives him a withering look.

"That's because I am mad that we have to sit her in these strangers' living room making small talk on the one night off we've had in days, when we could be at home, having sex right now." He points out , giving her an obvious look.

"You're seriously telling me that's what you're thinking about right now? Having sex?

"I am a man. I always think about having sex." He fingers the strap of her black dress. "Speaking off which, did I mention how beautiful you look tonight. You really do clean up nice Dunham. Wish it wasn't for the benefit Mr. and Mrs. antiquing psycho though."

"You're terrible." She shakes her head at him, unable to help a smile at his antics, as he bends down to nuzzle her neck.

"And you're a hypocrite." He looks up at her with a knowing smile. "Admit it. You're as bored as I am. Probably more."

"That's hardly the point." She shakes her head.

"What is the point really Liv? Why did we have to do this? We have nothing in common with these people."

"The point is they are our neighbors and their kids are friends with Etta and we've already declined their invitation three times before." She tells him with patiently. "And what's the matter with you. Since when are you so against meeting new people. You like socializing don't you?"

"I like socializing with people who are actually fun."

"Like mobsters who wanted to kill you and chop shop owners. Yeah, you've a very discerning circle." She rolls his eyes at him.

"Hey I used to have actual friends, before your insane freak show took over my life that is." He protests.

"Yeah terrible me. I ruined everything for you." She says dryly, patting his thigh. "Come on, be nice. We can't afford to alienate other parents Peter. Etta has to grow up in this neighborhood doesn't she? Don't you want her to have friends?"

"Yeah… I guess." He huffs. "Though I am not going to go antiquing with them. I love that kid of ours, but that's where I draw the line."

"That's okay." She laughs. "Just be your charming self and nod politely and we'll get through the evening without having to move to another place. And for God's sake, stop making fun of them." She says sternly.

"Technically, they don't even realize I am making fun of them."

"Well they're bound to catch up sooner or later. You're not as clever as you think you know."

"Fine… I won't make fun of them." He rolls his eyes at her. "Anything else mam?"

She leans forward, giving him a quick peck on the lips. "That's all for now. Though if you behave, maybe we can still do something with our night off once we're done here." She whispers against his lips.

His eyes go wide as he catches her meaning.

Suddenly the night just got a lot more interesting.


	49. Chapter 49

"Seriously, where did you find this guy again?" Rachel asks in a slightly envious voice as she watches Peter sitting cross legged on the living room floor with Etta, Ella and Eddie helping them build something mysterious and rather large with Etta's gigantic collection of tinker toys, as the kids excitedly chattered to him about something which by the look of rapt attention on his face seemed to be of great interest to him.

"Would you believe me if I said he just appeared out of a lake one day?" Olivia asks giving her sister a smile as she picks up her tea and sits next to her at the table following Rachel's curios gaze fixed on Peter and the children.

"Yeah right. As if men like him just appear out of lakes." She says rolling her eyes at her sister. "I mean look at him, he's so great with the kids, I am telling you, your husband has the patience of a saint."

"My husband is neither patient nor a saint." Olivia laughs at the admiration in Rachel's voice. "But yes, he's good with kids. I'll give you that."

Rachel shoots her an amused look, taking a sip of tea out of her cup. "So when are you guys popping out another one?"

"Rachel…" Olivia shoots her a warning look.

"What, you guys make adorable babies?" Rachel says innocently, though an impish smile belies her tone. "Etta is so perfect. It would be a shame to deprive the world of another Dunham-Bishop cuteness combo."

"That's not a good enough reason for us to have another kid. And our lives are crazy as it is." Olivia says shaking her head sternly, though unable to fight a smile of pride as her eyes wander towards her two-year old.

"Right…" Rachel nods and then looks at her curiously. "You know in the four years you were working at your crazy job I don't recall you mentioning ever once that Walter had a son, such a devastatingly handsome one I might add. You said he had no family."

Olivia clears her throat uncomfortably, calling up the rehearsed lie she and Peter had agreed upon a long time ago as a way of avoiding confusion. "He didn't. Not exactly anyway. They weren't close for very long."

"Yeah you told me that." Rachel says nodding, her voice far from convinced but she doesn't push her any further. "And then he suddenly just shows up and you start working with him and the next thing you know, you're having a baby with him?"

"That's one way to put it." Olivia nods remembering the stunned silence on the other end of the line when she had told Rachel about her pregnancy, followed by ecstatic gushing.

Rachel had been worried for her; she could see it plain as day in her expression as she kept looking at her nervously on the ride back from the airport, when she came down to visit a couple of months later.

* * *

_"What?"_

_"Nothing you're …just. You're glowing Liv."_

_"Way to trot out the clichés Rach."_

_"No I mean it. You look happy. Like really, really happy. I don't think I've ever seen you like this."_

_"Well, I have plenty reason to be like this." She had nodded with a happy grin, her hand drifting to her stomach in an unconscious gesture, a movement not missed by Rachel._

_"Liv… are you sure about this guy? I know you. You don't jump into bed with strangers, let alone get pregnant by them."_

_"Peter's not exactly a stranger."_

_"Yeah, but you've known him for what three months and you are ready to have a baby with him? That's way out of character for you" _

_"I know what it seems like Rach… but it's fine." Olivia had said. "When you meet Peter, you'll see that. You're going to love him."_

* * *

"Is there any more tea left? Peter asks sauntering into the kitchen as he pulls a mug out from the cabinet and pours himself some from the kettle, before taking a seat next to Olivia.

"What are you ladies talking about?"

"About how its time you guys had another baby." Rachel says not even bothering to look contrite at Olivia's deathly glare.

"Finally a Dunham who agrees with me." Peter grins. "I always knew you were the smarter sister Rach."

"So you have been talking about it?" Rachel flashes a triumphant smile at Olivia.

"If by that you mean Peter badgering me about it every second day then yes, we have been talking about it." Olivia says shaking her head.

"Oh come on Liv. You know Etta needs a younger sibling."

"Why because she just absolutely needs a little pest to stick her nose into things that aren't her business?"

"No so that she can be a great big sister, just like her mother." Rachel gives her a beseeching look.

"First you side with Peter and throw me under a bus and then you schmooze." Olivia throws her an exasperated frown.

"What can I say? The kids are all growing up and I miss being around babies. I just want another nephew or niece to spoil. Are you going to deny your only sister that pleasure? I ask for so little."

"No you ask for too much." Olivia says sternly. "And don't give me that look. You already borrowed all my jeans and my cds and my lipstick without asking I might add, and now you want me to go through nine months of pregnancy and hours of labor just so you can have a new baby to play with."

"I would like a new baby to play with too." Peter volunteers with a cocky grin. "Babies are way more fun than Nintendos."

"Shut up Bishop. This is not about you." Olivia rolls her eyes at him.

"It kinda is a little bit honey…" He says giving her a mock- patronizing look.

"Ignore her Peter. She'll come around." Rachel says chuckling wryly at their exchange,

"She always does." He nods smugly. "She's powerless to resist my charms."

"Oh, I am quickly developing some resistance right now." Olivia scowls at him.

"Denial is very unbecoming sweetheart."

"So Peter, do you want your second one to be a boy?" Rachel asks acting like she hadn't even heard them.

" Ok you need to stop with this…" Olivia protests, but the both of them ignore her.

"Not if I can help it." Peter says, shrugging at Rachel's puzzled look. "Bishop boys don't tend to bode well for the sanity of this world. You _have_ met my father. We tend to be rather…"

"Conceited, arrogant, myopic, incredibly intelligent and remarkably stupid at the same time." Olivia offers with a thin smile,

"I was going to say complex." Peter says evenly, throwing a wink at Rachel who's struggling to not laugh. "Girls on the other hand, just a bundle of perfection. We could do with a few more around here."

"Exactly how many kids do you plan on having around here?" Olivia asks him curiously.

"Oh I don't know. As many as we can find room for, maybe a whole tribe of Bishops." He quips, smirking at her

"Well, you'll find plenty room for your tribe once I leave you." Olivia remarks dryly. "And your bundle of perfection is about to topple that monstrosity that you guys spent two hours building. You might want to go and check on her. In fact why don't you take the kids out for ice cream?"

"Are you trying to get rid of me?" He cocks an eyebrow at her knowingly.

"And people say you miss the obvious." She deadpans, pursing her lips at him meaningfully.

He shakes his head at her, turning to Rachel with a sigh, making her laugh. "See what I have to put up with here. I get zero appreciation."

"My sister has a problem with being easily satisfied. I know plenty of women who would appreciate you just fine." Rachel gives him a sympathetic look.

"They can have him then." Olivia shrugs nonchalantly, sipping her tea.

"Oh you say that now. Wait till I am actually gone and then where would you be without me."

"I am sure I'll live." She says dryly, even though she can't stop the small tremor from passing through her heart when he says that. She hides it quickly with a smile at Rachel who's unaware of course of what was going on in her mind.

But Peter doesn't miss anything. He chuckles, kissing her forehead. "I am not sure I would though." He murmurs close to her ear, making Olivia blush.

He gets up from his seat, punching Rachel playfully on the shoulder. "Keep working on her Rach…. I am sure she'll cave. And if she doesn't…. well you can tell those women where they can find me."

"Come on kids… we're getting ice cream." He calls out then. Enthusiastic shouts follow from the living room at the mention of ice cream, as the two older kids run upstairs to grab their coats.

"Daddy, up." Etta toddles over to him, holding her arms out.

"Yes… up. Let's get your jacket though kiddo. It's cold outside." He says, picking her up and settling her in his arms. "Now what kind of ice- cream do you want?"

Etta responds with something that sounds like chocolate, babbling excitedly in a language that clearly only she understood.

"Really, that's my favorite flavor too." She hears Peter laugh, as he moves away to grab her jacket from the closet.

"You know I used to worry about you…" She hears Rachel say.

"For jumping into bed with a stranger and getting knocked up by him. Yeah you've mentioned that once or twice." Olivia nods, laughing.

"No, before Peter." Rachel explains, smiling. "Though I still can't believe that actually happened. You just, all our lives I've watched you Liv, watched the men who came into your life and they never seemed to give you whatever it was you were looking for and you seemed to isolate yourself so much after John, that I was afraid you had lost the will to trust in love. That you'd just ensure that you were lonely for all your life."

She then takes her hand and squeezes it gently, "But then, I heard your voice on the phone that day. The day you told me you were pregnant and you sounded so happy that I knew you were going to be fine. Not that you ever needed any of this to make you happy. You were always so strong and independent. You still are, but I am glad that you found Peter, even if he just appeared out of a lake or parachuted from the sky or whatever it is you're not telling me about him. "

Olivia's gaze is still fixed on Peter, as she watches him help their daughter with her jacket zipping it up for her, thinking about the strange and bizarre turn of events that brought them together.

"Me too."


	50. Chapter 50

"Oh man… I swear just when you think things don't get any more disgusting. Why am I even surprised anymore?" She hears Peter sneer at the sight of the crime scene photos, as he helps her arrange them on the pin board.

"I might just never eat another meal for the rest of my life."

Olivia simply smiles and shakes her head, used to his complaining by this point. "And yet, I'd bet anything when Astrid does a lunch run, you'll be the first to ask for something greasy and completely unhealthy, with loads of cheese."

He smirks at that. " After our latest edition of vomit enduing crime scenes, I think I've just reached my breaking point." He shrugs carelessly then. "At least we'll have some cool stories to tell our kids someday."

"Our kids?" She looks up at him completely shocked, the words flying out of her mouth even before she can think.

His smile dulls as he takes in her dumbstruck expression, eyes widening as he realizes what she had inferred.

"Well your kids and my kids…" He clarifies slowly, looking at her still shell-shocked face, "different sets of kids...that we'll have with other people Olivia…." His voice trails off uncomfortably.

"Right…" She feels like an idiot for reacting that way, hoping the heat she felt in her cheeks was just because of the weather.

"I didn't mean to suggest…"

"No of course not…" She nods, feeling exceptionally foolish in that instant. She gives him a quick smile in an attempt to quell the sudden wave of discomfort that could be felt between them.

For a few minutes they simply work in silence, pinning photographs to the board in sequence and avoiding looking at each other.

She takes a step back and leans against the desk, folding her arms across her chest as she scrutinizes the evidence, smiling a little at the way he joins her, mirroring her position to the tee.

"So you plan on telling your kids about all of this?" She asks casually, not looking at him, her focus ostensibly on the images of carnage laid out in front of her.

"Of course I am." He chuckles, rolling his eyes. "The least I can get out of this freak show that now pays my bills is bragging rights for the amusement of my future progeny."

She laughs at his joke, hollow, fake…. feeling oddly deflated at his words.

"Do you really hate it that much? Working here…."

_With me? _ She almost adds but stops herself, knowing how stupid that would sound.

"I didn't say that." He says pointedly.

"You didn't have to…." She's helpless to retort. It was glaringly obviously that he wasn't particularly happy being here, with Walter and dealing with the insanity that their lives had become.

Which was odd considering how seeing him in the lab every morning had inexplicably become the highlight of her day. It wasn't anything that he particularly did, but it always made her feel better when he was around, bringing her coffee, making some inappropriate witty comment, quibbling with Walter.

She had gotten used to his presence in her life in a shockingly and worryingly short span of time.

"I guess I've been rather whiny at times." He admits, giving her a sheepish grin.

"It's not like you don't have a right to be." She shrugs, not wanting him to feel guilty. "I know you're not entirely here by choice and whatever your reasons for staying are…. Nobody says you have to like it."

"Well nobody says I have to be a jerk about it as well…" He counters, and then gives her a somewhat apologetic look. "And I do like it Olivia…. all of this, as crazy as it sounds. It's nice to be able to help people, or you know help you help people that is. I've never had that in my life before…"

"What?"

"Purpose…" He says softly, a self-deprecating look setting into his eyes. "Most things that I've done with my life make for great bar stories but….there's nothing there I can say I am proud of."

"I am sure that's not true."

"Sadly it is… I am not one of the good guys in case you haven't realized that already." He rolls his eyes at her. "And I don't really don't entertain any notions of being a hero. But being part of this, with you… it actually makes me think I may not be such a sorry excuse for a human being after all."

The tone of his voice is sarcastic and blasé as usual, but Olivia cringes at the way he says it. She clears her throat, averting her eyes from his. "Well I don't know about that…. But I know the good guys when I see them, and I don't see anything that makes you such a sorry excuse for a human being."

He laughs rather mirthlessly at that. "Shows how little you know Dunham and thank you for saying that." He says in a genuine voice. "But it's okay. I may not be hero material, but I'll still stay and save the world with you."

"You will?" She asks hopefully, forgetting for a moment that they had simply been engaging in light- hearted banter.

"Of course I will." He smiles warmly at her, his eyes sparkling with an unspoken promise that somehow Olivia finds herself believing. "As long as you promise, I don't have to wear a suit to work." He then says flippantly, making light of the dangerously serious implications of their exchange.

"I wouldn't dream of it." She laughs.

"We're going to make a kickass team you know… you and I." He tells her, his confidence back with full swing, as he gives her a rather self-assured smirk. "And one day many many years from now… I am going to sit my kids down and tell them all about the freaky, disgusting and sometimes jaw dropping and totally awesome things we did together."

"So, I get to be in your stories huh?" She looks at him curiously.

"Well yeah… of course you do." He gives her an odd smile. "There's no story without you is there?"

* * *

"You're still reading that?" Peter asks Etta, when he catches her leafing through one of the graphic novels that the River had shown them.

She looks shy, almost bashful. "I asked River if I could keep one. Not every day you get to have a comic book featuring your parents as superheroes."

"Well your mom's the superhero." He points out as he takes a seat next to her. "I am just the trusty wisecracking sidekick. She used to make me sit in the car half the time."

"Don't say that." Olivia protests. "That's not how it was and like you ever listened to me any of the times I told you to stay in the car."

"Well... it pretty much was and how about a thank you for when I didn't stay in the car and saved your life, Liv?" He says ignoring her warning look.

"You saved her life?" Etta asks looking at Peter with surprise.

"I had my moments." Peter shrugs. "But she was the star."

"You had more than your moments." Olivia shakes her head at him and turns to look closely at the comic book Etta was reading, featuring her in all sorts of heroic scenes.

"Did this really happen?" Etta asks timidly, her expression rather awestruck.

Olivia smiles, giving her an apologetic shrug as she glances at the page Etta was showing her. "I wouldn't be able to tell you. I don't remember most of these cases the way they happened in this timeline. I don't even remember working on some of these."

"Timeline?"

"It's a long story." Peter interjects dryly. "Very long and confusing, best to be shared over a bottle of scotch. Speaking of which, and I realize the irony of this situation…" he says looking rather contrite. "But do you keep any in the house kiddo?"

"Yeah. Bottom drawer. The cabinet in the kitchen." Etta mutters absently, her focus still on the book.

"She really is your daughter Dunham." Peter gives Olivia an amused look, as he gets up to go help himself.

"So… how did it really happen then?" Etta looks at her curiously.

"Well…for one, Peter was there…. all those times." Olivia says her gaze drifting to him briefly, a fond smile on her face. "You should ask him really. He's been waiting to tell you stories about all about our adventures for a very long time. Ever since we started working together."

"He has?"

"Yeah…" She nods as she looks at her daughter's excited and proud expression. "There's no story without him is there?"


	51. Chapter 51

On the outside, they are always beautiful, together and apart, objects of aesthetic relief. The world sees them as a sum of sharp angles and features and pleasing builds, symmetrical, proportionate.

What's on the inside is a different story altogether…

She knows what she looks like. She's always known. Self-aware of the fact that she has blond hair and green eyes and a slender figure, which in combination may present a picture of conventional beauty to others. It's never particularly occurred to her to think any more of it than necessary, a genetic inheritance which she's thankful for, but not enamored with.

Beauty is a non-concern on good days and a down right inconvenience on the bad ones, something to be blunted by bland dress shirts and severe suits, to be put aside and disregarded when encountered with the cold and judgmental stares of the men she works with.

But beneath the veneer of flawlessness, hidden under layers of fabric, lies a garden of bruised skin and scars, of fading cuts and healing wounds, some which have been healing for years now, and new ones she acquires with too much frequency, glaring imperfections that stand out in the hazy light of a bedside lamp, or leap to sight in front of a full length mirror.

Imperfections that make her cringe.

It's not that she's ashamed or even vain…. Being self-absorbed about the way she looks serves very little purpose in her life and line of work.

It's just that she's never been able to wear them with pride, like warriors who brandish their war wounds.

That's never been her.

In her mind, there is absolutely nothing womanly or desirable about scars, no fucked up sentimentality about what are essentially markers of acts of violence done unto her body….

There is only one blemish which she's ever been able to look at without conflicted emotion, a thin, long stretch mark on the lower half of her left abdomen, a retainer from her pregnancy.

As far as she is concerned, it's the only scar behind which there's a story worth telling.

Peter has scars too, scars from fights of yore… ironically some wounds from encounters that never even transpired.

Mostly, his scars are always for her…. because of her, and she hates seeing them mar his skin the way they mar hers.

But sometimes when they lie together, skin against skin, she examines them carefully, committing each mark of excess to memory.

Charting them is like reading their life's story together, the ugly bruised reminders of the things that brought them together and pushed them closer and closer, forging bonds between them that they had never set out to make.

The first time she feels his eyes on him, exposed as she is in her underwear in a basement lab, after all of two days of familiarity transpiring between them, with her lover on a gurney in a coma nearby, she finds herself strangely coy of his subtle appraisal.

He doesn't stare… she'll have to give him credit for that. He doesn't eye the alabaster stretches of smooth, unblemished skin on display but scrutinizes gently, without a hint of disgust…. with too much concern for someone who pretended so much not to care, the violet patches of bruises and the scars that'll take months to heal. Even when he breaks her fall when she keels over woozy from the drugs and the smarting sensation of having a probe rammed into the back of her neck, and then helps her into the tank, she doesn't miss how he's careful to avoid any contact with her still sore to touch abrasions.

She loves him, not because he doesn't see her wounds, but because he doesn't unsee them. He kisses her tarnished skin much like he caresses her untarnished skin, like it was just another part of her body, no less or more desirable than the rest of her, not an unappealing hindrance to glaze over in quest of something more aesthetically pleasing, or even a site of display to be fetishized about.

The desire in his eyes is never in spite of her imperfections, but is for her, for everything that makes her who she is, the parts of her that are broken and bruised, battle hardened and jagged and the parts of her that are soft and beautiful and responsive and all woman.

The first time they make love, she tries to make light of it.

"I am sorry… everything's a little more banged up than you're probably used to." She says said regretting it almost immediately, when she sees the way his face falls.

She hadn't of course been thinking about_ her,_ at least not when she was saying that, her mind instead troubled by images of the super model like women who had been in his bed before her_, _but she knew what the implication of her words would sound like to him.

But he simply smiles, placing an innocent almost chaste kiss to her forehead. "You're a little more beautiful than what I am used to…"

"Peter… I didn't…"

"It's okay Olivia. It doesn't matter." He shrugs, pulling her hair to the side as he plants a kiss at her neck, looking at her with pure concern in the next moment. "Just, let me know….if I hurt you?"

"You could never hurt me." She shakes her head, kissing him before he could voice any more of his apprehension.

"You're beautiful…" he whispers in lust laden breaths, as his lips and hands move everywhere that night. " God, you're so beautiful…"

_I want you…I want all of you_ he tells her in everything but words.

The morning after she finds him outside her apartment, she wakes up to find him studying her carefully in the sunlight streaming in from the shades, his eyes focused on her body, almost methodical in their scrutiny.

"What are you looking for?" She asks, puzzled by his intense gaze.

"Your scars… they're different." He says, his fingers tracing the smooth skin of her left hipbone where a thin jagged line ought to have been there, from when she had been hurled out of a car from an alternate universe.

"But I am still the same. I promise." She tells him with a soft smile, taking his hand in hers, worried perhaps he was doubting himself all over again "I just have new ones now."

He nods in understanding, kissing her.

"So do I."


	52. Chapter 52

The very first time she says yes to his suggestion of getting a drink, they've known each other for two months and sit awkwardly in silence for twenty minutes, nursing their respective tumblers of whisky, during which she fumbles through terse, one line replies to all his questions and efforts to make conversation with her.

She can't bring herself to talk to him outside of work, like a normal human being would have, struggling with the simple act of social conversation to the point where her discomfort becomes glaringly evident to him.

Eventually, he gives up to go fiddle with the juke box, mumbling something about some music, and Olivia simply drinks some more trying not to feel so strangely defeated at her inability to simply string together words in a sentence.

It's not like they were on a date and it's not like they were always this awkward with each other. In fact, strangely Peter has been the easiest person to talk to since all of this craziness has started.

And yet right now… it's proving really hard to say anything to him without actually talking about work.

She watches idly, as a girl, a really pretty girl, walks up to him and starts talking to him. Notices the way his eyes sparkle with interest, the way he automatically relaxes and smiles more as he chats to her.

Irrationally, a pang of jealousy courses through her.

He's smiling now and she see him shake his head at something the girls seems to be saying, pointing towards their booth, before making his way back towards her.

She sighs, trying to come up with a gracious response for when he inevitably comes back to tell her he's taking off with the girl.

Even though she knows she can't really blame him given the dull company she is being, she's a little miffed at having lost his attention so quickly.

And the prospect of having to go home to her empty apartment while he spends his night with a stranger, having a great time is oddly disturbing in that moment.

She manages a tight smile when he rejoins her, settling into the seat opposite her, taking his drink in his hand.

"You came back?"

"Yeah, I went to pick out a song." He reminds her as he takes a long leisurely sip, looking like he was in no hurry to get out of there.

"Pretty girl." She says casually, swirling the remnants of her drink in her glass as she swallows it down in a big gulp, feeling the slow burn make its way down her throat.

He looks surprised, but covers it with a smile, nodding. "Yeah, she is."

She waits for him to say something, to give her some excuse and leave, but he simply takes another sip of his drink and settles back against the leather seat.

It occurs to her then that maybe he decided to come back after all, perhaps out of some gentlemanly consideration. Peter was strange like that. For someone who admittedly held some rather questionable morals, he was surprisingly very old school when it came to things like courtesy and manners.

That has to be it. She thinks to herself. There was no way anybody would suffer through an entire evening of mono syllables and stilted conversation over other promising venues of entertainment.

_Maybe he just feels sorry for you._ The thought pokes at her uncomfortably.

_He's just too nice to say anything. You should do the decent thing and give him an out._

"Aren't you going to go back and talk to her?" She asks him then, trying to keep her voice encouraging, studying his face carefully for a response.

He looks up from his drunk, really surprised at her question. "Why would I want to do that?"

"Because she's obviously interested in you. She's been eyeing you since we came in."

That signature smirk of his is back on his face when he hears her say that. "Has she now?"

She's helpless to fight a smile at his reaction. "Yeah, and she seems like your type too." She says dryly.

"My type?" He cocks an eyebrow at her, his expression more amused than curious and she feels a faint blush rise in her cheeks at the way he looks at her.

"You know…" She shrugs, giving him an obvious look. "Pretty, flirtatious… fun. I thought you'd be into girls like that."

"You've been guessing at what kind of girls I'd be into?" He asks her, his voice almost mocking, but not really unkind. "Or did you learn that from the imaginary dossier on Peter Bishop that the FBI keeps?" He asks sarcastically.

"Look Peter, it's fine. You don't have to stay with me and be bored anymore." She nods uncomfortably, taken aback a little when she sees him look at her with complete lack of comprehension. "She clearly likes you. You should go talk to her if you like. Have fun." She tries to sound as genuine as possible; offering him what she hopes is a cheerful smile.

He stares at her for a couple of more seconds before a somewhat sad chuckle escapes his throat, his fingers coming up to pinch the bridge of his nose, as he shakes his head. "Wow, how bad a rep do I have exactly?"

"I don't understand…"

"I am afraid I do." He nods slowly. "You must have a really low opinion of me to think I'd just abandon you in the middle of the evening and take off with some girl."

She blinks, taking in the self-deprecating expression on his face. "I didn't mean it like that Peter. I just... I don't want you to be miserable. I know you're not having any fun with me. I am not exactly the most entertaining company."

"Who says I wasn't having any fun?" He asks her then and if it wasn't for the honest tone of surprise in his voice, she would have thought he was mocking her.

"That's sweet but you don't have to lie."

"Why would I lie to you Olivia?"

"You're seriously saying you enjoy sitting in silence and watch me brood over my drink?" She asks incredulously.

"Absolutely. In fact I'll brood with you. In case you haven't noticed, I have major issues that need some serious brooding." He remarks dryly.

She laughs at that, feeling the tight hold over her inhibitions slip for the first time that night.

"Another round?" He asks, signaling the bartender, his eyes sparkling with mischief as she sees the hint of protest on her face. "What, you know we can't brood to the best of our abilities without hard liquor."

"I have to drive home you know." She reminds him.

"I'll call us a cab." He shrugs, before giving her a teasing smile. "What's the matter Dunham? Don't you trust me?"

_That's just it smartass. _ She thinks to herself, when she considers his question. _I trust you more than I want to, more than I should…_

She trusts him more than anyone else.


	53. Chapter 53

There are days when she thinks she couldn't live her life without him.

And then, there are many days when she wonders if she should have ever come into his life at all.

* * *

If fate should have taken a different turn and he had made a life with someone else, found happiness elsewhere.

He could have been _so_ happy she thinks….if only their paths hadn't collided

She's never doubted that his love for her was anything but genuine. There's no denying how much he has brought into her world, how beautiful what they have together is.

It's more than she's ever dreamed of having.

But she's never been sure if it was everything he deserved, if what they had was enough for him.

No one should have to go through so much heartbreak and uncertainty because of one person. It wasn't worth it.

She certainly wasn't worth it.

Sometimes she lies in bed and paints in her mind a different picture of his life, his life without her.

She thinks of him, unburdened without her concerns to weigh him down, blissfully ignorant of the truths they had uncovered together, free to do that which pleases him instead of being shackled to some misplaced sense of duty.

She thinks of him falling in love with someone, someone normal and utterly unlike her. Someone who could simply let go and enjoy the moments of joy when they presented themselves.

And in those fantasies that her idle mind weaves, he always seems so much better off without her that sadistically, she wants to give him that life instead of the one they share now…

Sometimes she wonders if she's being selfish by denying him that life he could have had, like she had no right to keep him to herself when she clearly couldn't give him more than what she was capable of.

Which wasn't very much in her honest opinion.

If she really did love him the way she believed she did, she would do what's best for him, what's good for him.

And Olivia is yet to be convinced she was all that good for him.

Since the day they've met he's been put through the ringer physically and emotionally on her account. He's been tortured, kidnapped, beaten up, shot at, manipulated and tricked by her alternate who played on his affections for her.

He's been shunned, coldshouldered and rejected by her for things that weren't his fault to begin with.

And to say nothing of the fact that as they sit her in her living room, with the shadows of an inter -dimensional war looming over them, his fate lies intertwined with a machine that could obliterate an entire universe.

Her conscience pricks at her, asking the same questions over and over again, eroding at her confidence.

If he survives this, doesn't he deserve something more than the occasional Friday night spent staying home and watching movies in her living room?

Doesn't he deserve more… an actual life, a family someday maybe?

"So I was thinking we could watch this one. What do you think?"

"Olivia…" She can hear his voice in the back of her mind and she collects herself back to reality to see him in front of the television set holding up a dvd of a horror flick for her approval.

"Are you happy?" She asks him absently, her mind still caught up in her own thoughts.

"I am always happy when we're watching blood and gore on screen instead of real life." He quips, popping the disc into the dvd player.

"Are you happy with me Peter?" She repeats her question, disregarding his witticism.

The lost quality of her voice makes him look back at her, carefully this time and he gives her a smile. "Of course I am happy." He grabs the remote and joins her on the couch. "I couldn't be happier if I tried." He plants a swift kiss on her forehead, and leans back on the cushions, ready to watch the movie.

She nods, not saying anything as the movie starts playing. She tries to relax and simply enjoy this time she had with him, to appreciate all the efforts he makes at trying to ensure they have normal evenings like this.

But her insecurities are beating all too loudly against her chest and she can't help herself from speaking up again.

"But if you weren't…." She pauses, her throat hitching, unsure how to voice her concern. He turns his attention back to her, his expression slightly concerned. "You'd tell me right?"

"Tell you what?" He asks puzzled at her demeanor.

She cannot meet his eyes any longer and she averts them to his shirt, her hand coming up to fist the soft cotton. "I'd like to think we know each other well enough not to have to pretend but you'd... you'd tell me if you weren't happy, wouldn't you?"

She dares to look up at him briefly;, enough to see the confusion in his eyes clear up just a little bit, a micro frown setting on his face. "What are you talking about Olivia?" His voice is somber, but gentle.

She doesn't want to be this person, this insecure mess of a human being who has to constantly doubt her ability to be able to give anything back to this man who gives her so much.

"Will you promise me something?" She asks facing him fully in the instant, too bright eyed and cheery for him to even believe her for a second.

He doesn't say anything, concern still flickering in his eyes for this sudden show of jovial bravado. But he gives her an imperceptible nod.

"Promise me…you won't let me get in the way."

"Get in the way of what?"

"Of your happiness. Of the things you want out of your life. Wherever that takes you. Just promise me you won't let me be the reason that stops you from wanting more. "

He blinks slowly, his expression darkening by the second as he frowns in obvious displeasure, making it apparent to him that her words not to his liking. But what follows is not more anger, but a defeated sigh that reverberates in the way the blue of his eyes dull.

He's getting up in the next instant, grabbing his pea coat, flung carelessly over the arm of the couch.

"This is obviously not going to work is it?" He says blandly, buttoning up his coat as he looks at her. "You're never going to stop doing this to yourself."

She doesn't ask for an explanation at his reaction. Depressingly enough, she's almost been expecting it to happen.

She doesn't focus on the glaringly evident anger and disappointment in his sees, but chooses to respond to his actions instead.

"You're leaving?" She says more than asks, her voice stupidly obvious, her heart beating wildly, a dull agonizing ache settling in her stomach.

"Isn't that what you want?" He shrugs, the lines of face crinkling in a tired expression. "It's like you've been holding your breath just waiting for things to go wrong ever since we decided to give this a real shot."

"That's not what…" she mumbles half-heartedly, her voice trailing off when she realizes she doesn't have any valid response to his accusation.

" Olivia, if it's not obvious to you how happy I am, how happy_ you_ make me," he emphasizes, " then there's no point in me trying to give you verbal reassurances because you're not going to believe me either way."

He crouches down then, coming to her eyelevel, his voice softer, and his hand comes up to cup her cheek gently. "I would do anything for you, fight the world if I had to. But I can't fight you Olivia." He says giving her the saddest smile she's ever seen him wear. "I can't hold onto you if you keep pulling away from me. And I would fix this, believe me I would if I knew how I could stop you from doubting yourself…. but I can't. I can't bear to watch you do this to yourself. I certainly don't want to be the reason you feel like this. No relationship is worth that. I care about your happiness as much as you seem to care about mine."

He leans forward to kiss her on the forehead, his lips the lightly grazing past the slope of her nose as his forehead comes to rest on hers. He clasps her hands in his hands, squeezing them gently. "How about you promise me something huh?"

"Promise?" She whispers, her words strangled and barely audible.

"Yeah… promise me…" he kisses her lips gently, "that you won't let yourself get in the way of your happiness." He echoes her words back at her. "Whether that's with me… or someone else."

He lets go then, and stands up, straightening and walks towards the door. He turns around though and gives her a brave, sincere smile. "See you tomorrow Agent Dunham."

* * *

The next morning she finds him in the office at the lab, staring pensively at a schematic for the machine.

"Good morning."

She sees him turn around to look at her, almost surprised to see her there.

"Morning." He gives her a light smile before he turns his attention back to the drawing.

"What have you been up to?" She asks casually, strolling towards him

"Oh you know same old… figuring out how to not kill 7.5 billion people and vanquish an entire universe as a bonus."

"Sounds like a lot of fun." She says dryly. "Have you been here all night?"

He cocks an eyebrow at her wordlessly.

"You're wearing the same clothes." She shrugs.

"Yeah… in an unexpected turn of events, my plans for the evening changed. Thought I'd refocus my energies on something productive instead of moping around feeling bad for myself. So I came down here to stare at my impending potential for destruction."

"You've an impressive ability to channel your emotional troubles into work." She gives him an amused look.

"I learn from the best." He quips, giving her a teasing look, before his expression falters, as if he suddenly realizes something. He clears his throat, forcing a little bit of distance between them. "Is there is case we need to look at?"

"Kind of…" She nods. "It's pretty open and shut, but I'd like you to weigh in and give me your take on it."

"Sure…" He nods. "What's it about?"

"You see there is this woman and she's completely in love with a man, so much so that she crossed a universe to tell him just that." Olivia gives him a small smile, moving closer. "And he makes her so happy that sometimes she has to pinch herself to believe it's real. But she's not sure if she can give him everything he deserves. So she did what she always did. She pushed him away."

She puts his arms around her stepping into a half embrace. "You see… the problem is after he left, she realized she couldn't even stand the thought of not being with him for ten hours, let alone the rest of her life. So she came to tell him that first thing in the morning before some other woman could realize how great he was and steal him away from her."

Peter gives her a baffled, almost crooked smile, as her lips move closer, inching towards his. "So I guess my question is Peter… do you think he'll come back to her."

"I think it's a pretty safe bet that he will." He nods, kissing her almost desperately in the next instant, like he hadn't seen her in years. He grabs her waist without pulling away and settles onto the desk, before gathering her face in his hands, and pushing their lips closer.

"Peter…" she breaks apart a few seconds later, gasping a little for oxygen "I am sorry about…" She tries to speak but he reclaims her lips in a kiss.

"Don't." He shakes his head. "Whatever it is just don't okay….. You… you're so amazing Olivia." He moves to kiss the nook of her neck, his movements lacking any pretense of coordination or control at this point. "You're perfect. How could you ever doubt I would want anything more than this… more than you?"

"You're everything…" He whispers kissing her ear, as he pulls her into an impossibly tight embrace. "Why can't you see that?"

"I am sorry." She whispers, burying herself into his chest, feeling relief flood her like a wave, as she realizes how close she had been to throwing away this.

"I am sorry."

They stay in that embrace for a ridiculously long time, not saying or doing much else, only reluctantly breaking apart when Astrid's voice is heard from the lab, alerting to them to the fact that they were no longer alone.

"Peter, just promise me one last thing." She says, taking his hand as they make their way out of the office.

"What is it this time?" He almost sighs though a hint of amusement in his eyes belies his pronounced exasperation.

"Promise me you'll never let go of me. That you'll fight for us, even if it means fighting me. No matter how much I get in the way of our happiness." She says looking a little contrite.

He nods, pulling her closer for yet another kiss.

"That's one promise I can keep."

* * *

There are days when she thinks she couldn't live without him.

And then there are days when she _knows..._


	54. Chapter 54

Peter blinks, taking several deep breaths, trying to stop himself from shaking, willing himself to calm down and failing desperately.

_It's okay_… he tells himself. _It's okay._

"Daddy…"

_ They can't hurt her. It's fine_

"Daddy…." Etta speaks up again, her voice slightly annoyed. "You're hurting me."

The displeasure in her voice is enough to snap him out his panic and he looks down under his chin, to where his daughter was looking at him, her little face scrunched up and miffed at him. He realizes only then that he's holding her in an impossibly tight and very clumsy embrace; given how he'd roughly grabbed her from the diner where they were just moments ago enjoying their lunch, and walked out, literally run to be precise.

"I am sorry sweetheart." He immediately loosens his embrace considerably, taking a deep breath again, as he adjusts her in his arms to make her more comfortable.

"Put me down." She orders him bringing her fist to push against his chest as she gives him a look she usually reserved for Walter when she found him doing or saying less than sane things.

He nods, but it's almost like his fingers are frozen and he can't let go of her even as she continues to glare at him, as any three year old would have been, if she'd been rudely interrupted from her desert. The smudges of chocolate cake are still on her lips which she is now turning at him in an unhappy pout.

"Do you mind telling me what that was all about?" He hears Olivia's worried voice behind him as he turns around to see her standing there at the street where they had parked their car, finally having caught up with them, wearing a concerned frown on her face.

Etta continues to squirm agitatedly in his arms and at this point he has to finally put her down. She huffs in annoyance at him and toddles over to her mother.

"Peter…" Olivia says sharply. "You forgot her coat. What's gotten into you? It's freezing." She gives him a scowl as she helps their daughter into the coat he'd left behind in his hurry to leave and hands him his jacket as well.

"We have to go." He says, fumbling for the car keys in his pocket.

"Why do we have to go?" Olivia asks, as she picks up her disgruntled and confused daughter, trying to soothe her by rubbing her back. Her voice shows her lack of patience at his weird behavior in the past ten minutes. "Will you please tell me what's going on?"

"Nothing is going on. Olivia please, we have to go…." He insists, opening the door, as he takes Etta from her again and deposits her swiftly into the car seat completely ignoring her protesting whimpers.

"But I didn't finish my cake." She whines, as he secures her seatbelt tightly.

"Not now Etta…" He says curtly, slamming the back door shut before she could say anything else.

"Peter?" Olivia looks at him with surprise, never having seen him use that tone with their daughter.

"I'll explain later. I promise." He tells her almost pleadingly. "Just get into the car please?"

She nods wanting to say something but stops herself, taking in the obvious distress on his face.

"Okay… we'll go."

He doesn't say anything on the drive back home, except to stop at a bakery and get a very irate Etta a big slice of chocolate cake in an attempt to appease her, knowing there was no way she would be coming near him today given his erratic actions in the past hour.

Olivia doesn't ask him again to explain himself. She knows Peter well enough. Knows that he could clam up about things with a resolve that could easily rival her own. There was no point in pushing him. He would tell her… just when he was ready.

So she waits, trying to keep her anxiety to herself, wondering what it was that had made him react that way. It had been such a normal day by their standards. They had finally found some time to do their Christmas shopping and then Peter had driven half way across the city to treat them to what he promised were the best waffles in all of New England.

And they had been pretty excellent waffles… even if she hadn't been convinced they were worth the long commute.

She remembers her and Peter being engrossed with Etta's story about the new hamster their class had just acquired when she had suddenly felt him tense up next to her.

She had seen the blood drain from Peter's face as his eyes focused on something or rather somebody…. A man, a fairly ordinary looking man, at the counter. He had immediately turned to her, an utterly terrified expression on his face.

"We're leaving." He hadn't said anything after that, as he reached out with his long arms and yanked up a rather astounded Etta who was busy shoveling a spoonful of cake into her mouth, from the opposite side of the table, and walked out without a moment's delay, with a gait so urgent that it made her fearful without even knowing why.

She had quickly left a couple of twenties on the table and grabbed the jackets he had left behind and followed after him, only to find him standing next to the car, trembling slightly, holding onto Etta like his life depended on it. Even though she was confused by what had gotten him so worked up, she hadn't missed his posture, the way he had her covered almost entirely in his arms…

Like he was shielding her from something.

Once they'd reached home, he had locked himself up in the study without saying anything to her and she hadn't gone after him.

Olive waits, she's nothing if not patient, years of experience with Bishop idiosyncrasies have taught her to be that. She spends the evening with her daughter, wrapping the presents they had bought, trying to take her mind off of the events of the day.

She feeds Etta an early dinner, watches half of an animated movie with her, tucks her in after she falls asleep during the movie and manages to wait a whole half an hour before deciding enough is enough.

She knocks on the study door and enters cautiously, not surprised to see him sitting in the armchair, his eyes lost, staring at the ceiling.

"Hey…"

He looks up only noticing her then, and gives her a nod of acknowledgement.

"You've been hiding here for over five hours now…." she says pointedly.

"I guess you're wondering about today huh?" He says without preamble.

She doesn't say anything simply closing the door behind her.

He closes his eyes, a painful, tired expression setting into his face.

"He works for Big Eddie…." He says then slowly. "The guy at the diner …"

"Oh…"

"Yeah… oh…" He chuckles mirthlessly, nodding as he meets her eyes. "I'd forgotten how I knew about that blasted diner in the first place…"

"Well it doesn't matter does it…." She says moving closer to him.

"Because nobody remembers…" He finishes for her. "My past has been erased. Right?" He asks, more to himself than her.

"Peter…"

"I was so scared Liv…" He buries his face into his hands. "So scared when I saw that man. I was terrified that he would do something to Etta or you…. "

"Peter it's okay. You don't have to worry about that." She crouches at his eyelevel, cupping his face. "You know you don't have to."

He looks up at her, nodding though not looking entirely convinced. "I kept thinking… what if he somehow remembers, what if he comes after me. What if he hurts Etta…" He shudders, looking pensive. "Do you know have any idea how many enemies I've made in my life, to think any one of them could have come after her to get even with me…. if they only remembered."

"That's in the past." She assures him. "And the likelihood of anyone remembering events from the other timeline is very minuscule."

"But it could happen…" He shakes his head. " Doing what we do has taught me that much. Anything can happen really. And forget about old enemies, what about all the people we've pissed off since, that's a pretty impressive list of coldblooded maniacs who have a lot of score to settle with you and me Liv." He sighs, grabbing at her hand. "How can we keep her safe, when our lives are in so much danger all the time? Doesn't that scare you?"

"Everyday…" She nods. "Since the day I found out I was pregnant, I've been scared. It never goes away."

"That's not really helping you know." He gives her a small smile.

She chuckles herself. "I know, and I wish I could tell you something that will reassure you, but…"

"But this is our life and we just have to deal with it…" He finishes for her.

"Pretty much." She moves closer, sliding onto his lap, resting her head against his chest.

"But no matter what happens, or how dangerous the world gets, we'll protect her. We'll keep her safe Peter…I promise." She whispers fiercely.

"We'll keep her safe…. together."


	55. Chapter 55

The first time Broyles sees Etta, she's only a few hours old.

Nina's the one who calls him at 2:30 in the morning, sounding completely overwhelmed and completely unlike herself, informing him of the good news.

Ten minutes later, he's in his car driving to Boston General.

After all, he has been witness to all his protégé's major achievements, usually ones which involved saving the universe from the brink of destruction; it stands to reason he should be there to see her best one yet.

He isn't one to overly get involved in his colleagues' personal lives, he wouldn't drive at this hour even for a friend who has had a baby... but then Olivia Dunham is not just any colleague.

Since the day she had informed him of her pregnancy, he has kept tabs on her, making sure she wasn't part of any dangerous situations, enquiring after her well being Not that he needs to be concerned; given the younger Bishop had made it all but his life's mission to watch over her these past few months.

* * *

_"You cannot let her go on field duty anymore." He says without preamble, barging into his office one day. _

_"Seriously, you'll have to forbid it. Threaten to fire her. Do what it takes but just be very strict with her." He says looking frazzled. _

_"Excuse me?" He says blandly. _

_"You don't understand. She won't listen to me. Its too dangerous for her." He says sighing in defeat. "And if I try to stop her from doing something, there's a good chance Olivia will happily tell me to get lost. But you're her boss. She has to listen to you." He says firmly convinced of his plan._

_" Doesn't she?"_

* * *

He makes his way towards the private room in which Olivia was being kept in, flowers snagged at a 24 hour grocery store in hand, only to be hijacked by the older Bishop in the lobby.

"Agent Broyles how wonderful to see you here…Have you met my granddaughter?" He points towards the baby he holds in his arms with pride and unencumbered joy, surrounded by a bevy of nurses and even a couple of interns.

"She's beautiful isn't she?" The older man says proudly. "She looks like Peter when he was a baby. But his eyes were green…" He tells the audience he seems to have gathered around himself.

Broyles nods, noting the tiny baby, unable to help a smile at the way she stares back at him, even with her unfocused eyes, proud and defiant, much like her mother. He wonders to himself if this was the same man who had wavered towards the edge of insanity just a few months ago, refusing so much as to be in the same room as Peter, now embracing so wholeheartedly this child who truth be told had no biological connection to him, as his granddaughter.

"Do you know where I can find Agent Dunham?"

"Of course… let me take you to her." He nods, leading him down the corridor before getting distracted by an approaching medical intern. "Oh hello, I am Dr. Walter Bishop?" He waylays the unsuspecting young woman. "Have you met my granddaughter dear? She looks my son doesn't she? No you wouldn't know of course would you… Oh go on Agent Broyles, it's the second door to your left. Oh wait; I have a picture of him. Here you can hold her while I fetch my wallet. "

Broyles chuckles despite himself, leaving the other man to terrorize the poor woman while he makes his way into the room to find her half asleep, propped up against a mountain of pillows, eyes closed, with Peter sitting next to her.

"Agent Broyles?" Peter looks at him, extremely surprised to see him here. "It's not a case is it?" He asks wearily. "Because you know Olivia is good at her job but this might be a bit of stretch even for…"

"It's not a case." He cuts him off. "I am just here to offer my congratulations."

At this point Olivia wearily opens her eyes, woken up by the noise. She looks at him in surprise much like Peter but gives him a tired smile anyway.

"I never thought I'd come to see you in the hospital at this hour and it would be a good thing." He says, giving her a smile.

"That makes two of us." She shrugs.

"Congratulations….both of you. This is a big day for you."

"Thanks." Peter then grins apologetically. "If you're here to see the baby, I am afraid we don't have one. We seem to have lost her. My father disappeared with her about ten minutes ago. I did hear something at the nurses' station about an elderly man roaming the corridors with an infant."

"I already saw her." He nods. "Your father is showing her off to everybody he can find."

"Of course he is." Peter rolls his eyes.

"She's remarkable." He gives Olivia a smile. "Certainly one of the better things to come out of Fringe division."

"Oh I think she's the best thing to come out of Fringe division yet." Peter chuckles, fatherly pride write large over his beaming face, looking much too bright eyed and zesty for a man who looked like he hadn't slept in over a day.

Olivia's face lights up with an amused smile of her own. She then turns to Peter, laying a hand on his shoulder, her expression slightly concerned. "Will you please go find Walter and bring the baby back before he gets himself arrested for kidnapping?"

"I would listen to her." Broyles says. "I just saw him hand your daughter over to a complete stranger."

"He did what?" Peter jumps to his feet, his expression turning alarmed from amused. "I am going to kill him." He mutters angrily, leaving the room swiftly.

"Thank you for coming down. You needn't have though." She says quietly, the exhaustion seeping out from her voice, as he sets the flowers down by her bedside. "I specifically told Nina not to bother you at this time of the day."

"I asked to be kept informed." He shakes his head. " How are you feeling?"

She's just about to answer when Peter's sharp voice filter in through the hallway. "Walter, the nurse does not want to see pictures of you and me at the Star Trek convention and stop giving my baby over to random people to hold." This is immediately followed by some squabbling between the two men and predictably some shushing and reprimanding undoubtedly by some hospital personnel.

Their eyes meet as she looks at him, appearing rather contrite about the whole thing. "He hasn't slept in over two days." She shrugs, as if she was somehow responsible for explaining Peter to him. "And you know Walter…"

"You're positive that's the family you want to be related to?" He asks wryly, unable to help his amazement for the nth time at how someone like her had ended up being caught between those two men, each strange and remarkable in their own way.

"That_ is_ my family." She says with a fond smile. "And yes, I am positive. I guess in some way I have you to thank for all of this…" She says then, an odd expression of gratitude on her face. "Even if you don't remember it."

"How so?" He's curious at her statement.

"I'll tell you sometime sir." She laughs softly and before she can say anything else the dueling father and son and are back in the room.

"Olivia will you tell my son he has no right to keep me from sharing my joy with the outside world." Walter all but shouts.

"Will you please tell him, he cannot go around passing our daughter like a plate of cookies?" Peter retorts in turn.

At this point Etta begins to whimper noisily, prompting a look of concern from Olivia who seems to have drowned out everything else to take her from Peter's arms into her own.

Soon enough the commotion causes a nurse to stop by wondering what so many people were doing well past visiting hours. She immediately demands everybody leave the room and Broyles realizes that he doesn't have his badge on him to be able to contradict her.

"You can't kick me out. I am the father." Peter protests, as they're being heralded out of the room by the stern nurse. "Seriously lady…just ask her, I really am."

"It's okay baby." Olivia murmurs softly, her focus solely on the infant and not even a little on the activity in her surroundings. "It's okay."

"Miss, do you want this young man here?" The nurse asks, her expression showing a clear lack of patience with everybody in that room.

"He can stay." Olivia says absently without even looking up.

"Fine…" She huffs and then turns toward them. "But you gentlemen need to leave."

Walter walks away muttering unhappily and he's about to leave to when Olivia looks up from the baby to meet his eyes again, apologizing again. "I am sorry you came all the way for this."

"You have nothing to be sorry about." He nods. "You take care Agent Dunham and congratulations once again… both of you."

It had been a pretty wasted trip on all accounts but he hadn't cared. Truth be told, he had wanted to be there to remind himself of the fact that good things could happen in this fucked up pseudo-science reality that had become their lives. To really believe that normal could be possible for one of them and see it for himself.

And more than anything he wanted to convince himself that the price his agent had paid for choosing the life she did had been worth it after all.

Whoever this Peter Bishop is or was…. he seemed to belong here with them in their strange existence. He had many useful skills that made him a great asset to the ragtag team he had assembled, never seemingly overwhelmed by anything. His intellect was beyond impressive and honestly Broyles had never seen anyone do a better job of handling Walter Bishop than Olivia.

Iffy as his origins were, Broyles had warmed up to his presence and treated it as a positive development.

But when Olivia had stood in his office that day telling him about how she remembered her life from the other timeline, calmly then relaying to him her decision to be this other version of herself, he had to rethink that particular assessment.

He had asked her to reconsider, to at least explore the possibility of having these external memories exorcised. Dr. Bishop would find a way to reverse the process he had assured her.

She hadn't even blinked. In her usual composed and professional manner, she had given him an explanation which was better suited to a gushing schoolgirl caught up in a romantic fantasy, than the exemplary agent he knew her to be. She told him about the relationship some iteration of her shared with the mystery man who had emerged out of Reiden Lake and how she wanted to be her former self so that she could have that back.

"I love Peter, and I don't want to be without him…. I can't." She had shrugged, almost like it was an impossibility for her to live without him, like it was simply natural for a woman who was tough as nails, fiercely independent and determined in every which way to have her self completely overwritten for a man and become someone else. "I don't know if you can understand my decision, but it is what it is. If you want to fire me for this I understand, but I hope you don't."

Even though he had accepted her decision, knowing that attempting to change her mind was futile, he never really did understand any of it for a long time. No relationship could possibly mean that much that it warranted shedding one's whole life away, especially not for someone like Olivia Dunham.

Nonetheless he had kept his thoughts to himself, averse as he was to interfering in her personal life. And it didn't particularly change much. She worked just as well, even better with Bishop by her side in a seamless partnership that never seemed affected by their personal equation.

Maybe she knew what she was doing after all, he had thought, quelling his reservations, but never quite getting over them.

Years later, Broyles sees Etta and she's twenty years old, still staring at him with a gaze so intense and completely like her mother's, the same tenacity and resolve ideally complemented by her father's wit and off the cuff style of doing things.

He finally understands Olivia's decision and he knows it was the right one.

Peter was right he thinks… she really was the best thing to come out of Fringe division.


	56. Chapter 56

That night Peter's not the only one who can't sleep.

For a long time Olivia stares at the cobwebbed ceiling, her mind recollecting memories, some that never were, reliving each one like they were happening right in front of her.

It's the curse of her ability to remember everything. She can never really forget.

She remembers the two of them sitting in this office, staying up all night going through case files over root beer and pizza, talking about everything and nothing, all the times when she would walk into the lab in the morning to find a mug of coffee already waiting for her, or when he would push half of his sandwich her way telling her she needed to eat something.

The first time she had decided to trust him and let him in, it was in this very office, when she had told him about her step- father.

It was here he had broken her heart once without meaning to, probably shattering his own in the process as he tried to explain the significance of the book that had arrived at her doorstep.

A lifetime ago, Peter had grabbed her by the waist and pulled her into this very office on a late night when Astrid and Walter had been on a quest to locate some of his old papers which he has squirreled away somewhere at the law library.

* * *

_"What do you think you're doing?" She had asked, as he reached for her shirt buttons._

_"I think it should be fairly obvious by now." He had grinned wickedly, pulling her in for a kiss, pushing her up against the desk._

_"Peter, we cannot do this… not here." She had tried to protest as he proceeded to divest her off her shirt with too much ease, even as her hands found their way under his sweater almost like they had a mind of their own. "Not in the lab."_

_"Considering all the things that have gone down here, I think this is one of the more normal things we can do here." He had quipped, capturing her mouth in a kiss before she could say anything else._

_"Peter…" She had tried to force some distance between them. "We work here. This is wrong."_

_"I agree…" He had nuzzled her neck, making her gasp as his teeth lightly grazed her skin. "This is very very wrong. That's why we have do it. It's what's right."_

_"That's faulty logic." She had said pointedly even if her actions were clearly in contradiction to her words. She had wrapped her legs around his pulling him closer, tugging his sweater off with urgency._

_"Screw logic." He had mumbled reaching for her bra strap._

_"I'd rather screw you." She had reached for his belt, all pretense of propriety having disappeared. That had made him look at her with a startled expression before he broke out into a smirk._

_"I love it when you get down to business Agent Dunham."_

_As they'd dressed later, flush faced and giddy like hormonal teenagers, he had put his arms around her, giving her an utterly impish and very satisfied grin_

_"Remind me to bring you lunch in the FBI building sometime. Your desk is way less cluttered than this one. Less pointy objects getting in the way."_

_"Never happening." She'd given him a warning look. "Half the bullpen is already speculating on the two of us doing it six ways to Sunday."_

_"It's not speculation if it's true." He had said pointedly, promptly earning him a smack on the head._

_"Keep talking like that and they'll make the two of attend a mandatory seminar on inter office romance." _

_"Broyles doesn't mind." He had shrugged._

_"That's because, Broyles has other things on his mind right now." _

_"Like our ongoing war with an alternate universe and the fact that I could kill billions of people with a machine we don't know anything about…yeah that can make it easy to prioritize workplace agendas." He had joked, before his gaze settled on her._

_"All I know is if the world ends today or even ten days from now, I would die a happy man."_

* * *

_That was them then…and here they were now, husband and wife, with over two decades of marriage between them, sleeping in separate beds._

Suddenly, almost like it's only hitting her then, Olivia feels the absurdity of what they have doing for the past so many days.

It was a distance of less than a few feet between them but it occurs to her just how wrong the whole thing was.

She knows the chasm between them is still healing, knows the hurts of the past cannot simply be undone with a few heartfelt moments. Knows that at this point, Peter was simply way too caught up in overcoming his own distress for them to work on their relationship.

But there is a very significant part of Olivia that wants to throw all those commonsensical arguments to the side and climb into that impossibly small cot of his with him to claim what was rightfully hers, a place in his arms, completely disregarding the fact that Astrid and her father in law were right there in adjoining rooms.

And she really does want to just sleep… She doubts if Peter would mind, is surprised he hadn't suggested or done it himself.

She always slept so much better with him by her side, lack of space be damned.

After all, for weeks they had slept together in his cramped twin bed in the old Bishop house in Cambridge, ignoring the mild discomfort it presented, long arms and legs forever knocking and intertwining, but too ridiculously happy to care one way or the other.

Though it's not like they were getting much sleep in that particular instance….

* * *

"_You don't really strike me at the type who likes to cuddle." She had once told him, amused at his tendency to hold onto her rather possessively in bed._

_"I am not." He'd shrugged, pulling her even closer. "Just making sure you'll still be here in the morning."_

_"Why, you afraid I'll just take off in the middle of the night?" She had joked, trying not to show she understood his anxiety better than she let on._

_"Where would you go really? I already know where you live…. and work." He'd laughed. "Plus you know… this bed is not really made for two people. I wouldn't want you to roll off and break something."_

* * *

Peter had never asked her why they never went back to her place where there was a much better clearly made for two bed, never even suggested it once or pointed out the obvious: how truly odd it was for two adults in their thirties to be sharing a house with one of their parents, especially when said parent expressed too much giddiness over their nighttime activities for it to not be creepy.

She remembers the first time that happened… after Walter unashamedly recanted to a visibly embarrassed Astrid that his son and Agent Dunham had been fornicating on a regular basis. Olivia had been mortified and Peter had simply looked like he was going to be ill.

_"Don't make us go back there…" He'd said in a comically frustrated sigh. They'd been sitting in Harvard Yard on the lawn, by the river, on that rare December afternoon when it had actually been warm and sunny. He was lying on the grass with his head resting against her stretched out legs, eyes closed. "Seriously, I don't care if we have to do it in some sleazy motel by the interstate." _

_"I do care…" Olivia had laughed, running her fingers through his hair. There was something about clandestine meetings in sleazy motels that reminded her too much of past relationships, a sinister illicit and fundamentally wrong quality that she wasn't willing to lend to her time with Peter. "I am not telling our children that we spent a significant part of our time in trashy motels when we were dating."_

_She had seen the way his expression had changed when she had said that, and it occurred to her what she had then what she had always assumed, that this was for keeps, but never really discussed with him._

_She had shrugged, trying to not make too much of her words. "Besides, I like sleeping at your house. It's familiar and comforting."_

_"And the fact it comes with a resident mad scientist is no never mind to you?" He had looked at her skeptically, eyes squinting in the sunlight._

_"I think we've handled worse."_

_"You know I am not so sure about that." He had muttered laughing. "But whatever you say sweetheart… just don't blame me if Walter starts quizzing you on birth control."_

In hindsight, Olivia thinks if there was ever proof how much he loved her it wasn't so much the universe saving but the fact that he was willing to suffer through his father's constant and extremely public cheer leading of their relationship for the sake of her comfort.

And truth be told, even with Walter's less than tactful interference in their love life, Olivia had _loved_ that old house. It was home to her, much more than her apartment of four years had been, the one place she felt like she belonged since her father had died. The one place the other had never touched and tainted.

She loved the creaky worn stairs and the messy kitchen where Walter had taught her to make the legendary Bishop blueberry pancakes, the rare and strangely titled science books and works of literature that lined the book shelves, the eclectic sounds of Jazz, Mahlar and 70s psychedelic rock resonating throughout the place, the piano which Peter would play for her some nights.

She loved every bit of it. Long before they were officially related through marriage, it was where she felt for the first time like she had her own family.

Peter's old room with its mismatched furniture and his childhood pictures had been her sanctuary, her safe place away from everything else where there was nothing else to anticipate than the singular pleasure of waking up in his arms every morning and feeling the warmth of the sunlight pour in from the windows. Afterwards, they would make their way downstairs hair sleep tousled and more than a little self-conscious, where Walter plied them with sugary breakfast items and painful double entendres, as they sat holding hands under the table, simply smiling at each other.

Were they ever really that happy once upon a time? Olivia thinks biting back a sob that was making its way up her throat.

Before Etta came into their lives and then been taken away so cruelly... when they hadn't dared to dream for more than what they could have, content to simply revel in the moments they had stolen from Peter's impending fate.

Even with their inevitable destruction hanging over their heads, those had been the simpler times.

They should have known better than to forget their history. Realized that misery always lurked at the edge of their happiness. If they hadn't been so naive, maybe they wouldn't have gotten burnt so badly by fate.

* * *

The last time they had made love was two nights before Etta went missing. It had been particularly warm, Boston being in the throes of a heat wave that had lasted all week, and she had tossed and turned trying to get comfortable, annoyed that her husband could actually sleep so blissfully even when it so hot.

She had straddled him the next instant, hands travelling up his bare chest, kissing him soundly, waking him up from his slumber.

He had opened his eyes blearily, trying to focus in the dark, looking up at her disoriented and sleepy.

_"What?"_

_"Let's make another baby." She had whispered in his ears, gratified when she was rewarded with a sleepy smile from him._

_"Are you sure?" He'd asked looking at her in mild surprise, given how reticent she had been about this subject the few times he had brought it up._

_She had nodded, kissing him again. "I threw out my pills today."_

_He broke into a dazzling smile at that, now fully awake and definitely aware, as the implication of her words sunk in._

_"Okay then…" He had rolled them over, pinning her down in the next instant, a dangerous gleam in his eyes. _

_"Let's make another baby."_

* * *

Two days later everything had gone to hell

For days after, even with everything else going on, she had been utterly terrified that they had succeeded in what they had set out to do, given their precedent in these matters.

And when she realized that she'd missed her period, she had almost had a breakdown. This couldn't be happening to her, not then, not when her child was out there, lost and frightened, not when she was barely functioning, not when the man she loved was turning into a shell of his self with every day that passed.

"I saw it in the trash can…" he had told her the next morning, not bothering to explain what he was talking about, as they sat at their kitchen, going through the list of shelters that they were going to visit that day.

He'd looked at her anxiously, unsure as if how to ask the question. "Olivia, are you…?"

"No…" She'd shrugged, giving him a reassuring nod. "I missed my period, so I just wanted to make sure…. it was probably just stress."

She had seen the shock followed by the mixed look of abject disappointment and heartbreaking relief pass through his face. For a moment, it had seemed like he had wanted to reach out to her, to say something, to make her feel better.

But he'd simply nodded, his face impassive again, his attention back to the laptop screen, smirking humorlessly.

"Guess we only get lucky once huh?"

Afterwards, she had fished that pregnancy test out of the trash can, staring at it for over half an hour trying to decide if she was thankful or disappointed. If Peter was in a different frame of mind, she would have gone to him. But she hadn't felt like adding to his burdens. So she had sat on the bathroom floor, slumped against the tub, crying for reasons she didn't even understand, his words echoing in her mind over and over.

For the first time, she had felt truly alone in her marriage. Alone and defeated as she realized their family would never get another chance at flourishing.

After that day, he never held her in his arms while they slept, or pretended to sleep at any rate. The spaces between them growing larger and larger, as they avoided each other, trying to come up with ways and means to not have to spend the night together in one room.

And then they stopped pretending altogether. One night Peter had simply stayed down in the living room instead of coming upstairs without even bothering with an excuse and she hadn't asked for one.

Their marriage had died a million deaths every day and they'd been too far gone to see how it was struggling to live, crying for help right in front of their eyes.

After all they never fought, or argued or yelled. There were no flared tempers or histrionics, no ugly scenes to indicate to them the fissures that were erupting, the distances that were widening.

They had simply loved their child so much that they'd forgotten how much they'd loved each other once.

But now she remembers, as she turns over her shoulder to steal a look at where Peter was once again pretending to be asleep.

She remembers and she misses him.

God how she misses him, he was right there next to her within touching distance and she misses him. She misses the feel of his skin against hers, the little intimacies that had become second nature to her. She misses desperately her old Peter, before loss had broken him immeasurably, before he'd wandered off to the deep end and become a cold and unfeeling stranger.

She stares at his wedding ring that had unceremoniously made it back to his finger. In his usual way, he hadn't bothered to explain himself to her about what brought it on, simply done whatever he wanted and left her guessing.

She's not sure what it means. What he wants it to mean to her.

She's not sure if they'll have a second chance. If they'll rebuild the life they once shared. If she'll ever hold in her arms another child and love her the way she had loved her daughter. If Peter would ever be able to overcome his grief to even consider the possibility.

But she's sure that they have each other, as much as they'll ever have each other that is…

Seeing that ring on his finger, that unremarkable piece of metal, that gleams against his pale skin in the darkness, makes her feel hope.

Maybe he was telling her in his own wordless was that he was hers again, truly and completely, claiming what was once his. That he was willing to be brave again, to let her in…

Soon Olivia thinks sleepily, she'll be brave too. She'll claim what was hers too.

Soon she won't hesitate to climb into that bed next to his.

She _really_ did sleep better with him next to her.


	57. Chapter 57

"Hold onto my hand tight okay kiddo." Peter says as he unbuckles her out of her car seat and helps her out.

"Why?" She gives him a cheeky smile, as she grabs his hand.

"Because, if you didn't, you might get lost and that would make me sad." He gives her a smile as they make their way towards the street corner.

"How sad would it make you?" She asks eagerly, as she walks swiftly to keep up with his brisk stride, trying to mimic her father's swagger.

"Very very sad." He says absently, as they stop at the intersection with the rest of pedestrians waiting for the walk sign to change. Using his free hand, he pulls out from his pocket, the list Olivia had handed him in the morning running over the school supplies she had asked him to pick up

"Like when grandpa was sad because Edward was sick?" Etta's inquisitive voice buzzes in his ear.

"Who is Edward?" He asks, his attention diverted slightly from the list as he runs over his father's known associates and friends trying to place anyone with that name.

"Edward is grandpa's favorite mouse in the lab."

"Of course he is…" Peter nods, his hold on her hand tightening even more as they make their way across the street.

"Yeah, grandpa had to give him special medicine to make him okay."

_Translation, probably dozed the thing with LSD_. Peter thinks to himself. "Well I am glad Edward is feeling all better now. Hold on honey, your shoe lace is untied." He pauses to bend down, coming up to her eye level.

"Would you be sad like that?" She asks regarding him carefully, as he ties her laces for her.

"Like what?"

"Like grandpa was about Edward."

He rolls his eyes, shaking his head. "I am certain I would be a little sadder than Walter was over a lab animal."

"Why?"

"Because I would be worried about you and I would miss you terribly." He says, nudging her nose with his finger.

"Why would you miss me terribly?"

"Did anyone ever tell you, you ask too many questions?" He smiles in mild exasperation, grabbing her hand once again as they resume walking.

"No." She shrugs, too young to understand the sarcastic undertones of his voice. "Why would you miss me, daddy?"

"Because….." He laughs, shaking his head. "There would be no one around to ask why all the time." He immediately stops laughing though, when he sees the beginnings of a clearly not amused very Olivia like frown making its way across her lips.

"And because…" he presses on, squeezing her hand gently. " I love you so much that I can't imagine being without you."

"You do?" She asks.

"Absolutely. I don't know what I would do without you." He says ruffling her hair playfully, as he leads her into the store.

"Seriously, you need all of this stuff for preschool?" Peter asks skeptically, eyeing the overflowing basket of items, as they wait in line at the cashier's counter. "Whatever happened to finger painting and nap time?"

Etta doesn't answer him, chewing her lower lip thoughtfully. "I know what you can do." She says suddenly, looking like an epiphany had just struck her.

"About what?" Peter says vaguely.

"If I got lost daddy." She clarifies, nodding excitedly.

He looks at her then with a curious smile, surprised she was still thinking about that given her short attention span.

"You do, do you? And what is that?" He ask her.

"You can come and find me and then I won't be lost any more." She shrugs, looking at him like it was painfully obvious.

"Is that what I should do?" He asks, unable to help a chuckle.

"Yes." She nods, sounding entirely sure of herself.

"Well that's good advice. I'll keep that in mind. Thanks." He then bends down to place a kiss on her head. "But you don't have to worry about that. I am never going to let anything happen to you. Okay?"

She simply smiles at him.

"But it's okay if you can't find me daddy." She tells him earnestly, putting both her hands on either side of his face.

"I'll find you. I promise."


	58. Chapter 58

"Peter…." She moans, calling out to him, sinking further into the pillows, her face flushed, as she kicks off her sheets, running a hand down her throat. "I am hot."

"I agree." She hears him chuckle. "You're very hot."

She opens one eye, and then another, scowling at him, as he sets a glass of orange juice on the bedside table and sits next to her.

"I don't mean that kind of hot you idiot."

"I know what you mean." He says gently, laying a hand on her flushed cheek in an attempt to soothe her, something which always worked really well in the past.

"Don't touch me." She bats his arm away irritably. "Your hands are too damn warm."

He nods obediently, withdrawing his hand with impressive quickness.

She huffs then, for no particular reason and looks at him with a stern expression. "And just so you know when we're done with this, you're not coming anywhere near me."

"I believe that's the third time you've told me that this week." He grins good naturedly, with extra care to not appear or sound sarcastic.

She lolls her head from one side to the other on the pillows, her expression turning almost pitiable in just a split second.

"Did you turn the thermostat down?"

"Yes I did."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, I am positive."

"Because it's stifling here." She sighs, tilting her face forward, shifting a little on the mattress in an effort to get comfortable. She pulls her hair from behind her, sweeping it to the side, allowing her neck to breathe.

"God, I am so miserable, I could kill something right now." She glares at him, her green eyes suddenly acquiring a dangerous gleam that he'd never seen before. "This is all your fault you know."

He knows better than to counter her nowadays. Over the past month, he has quietly and without much protest taken the blame for numerous events including the cable going out, her favorite takeout place moving to a different location and generally every and any untoward incident that involved her.

But even so, he finds himself almost stupidly being defensive even when he really really knows better.

"How is the weather my fault?" He asks curiously. "It's not like I decided that a heat wave should pass through Boston this week. That one's on global warming."

She then gives him the look she saved for very special occasions. The one that said, _I know you're a genius and then some, but boy…are you stupid._

"I don't mean the heat…. I mean this…" She points in the general direction of her distended middle. Peter simply smirks, understanding then true source of her frustration, nodding as he takes in the sight of her, stretched out on the bed, wearing nothing but an old gray t-shirt of his that barely hit her thighs at a normal time let alone when she wasn't a week away from her due date

"You're absolutely right." His face immediately lighting up with a smile. "That one is all my doing."

It still hits him like a lightning bolt, the feeling of immense pride and something truly indescribable when he sees her transformed figure and realizes he had something to do with that. That there was this little human being inside waiting to come out into the world and he had a hand in creating her.

Predictably Olivia catches onto his inner thoughts and gives him a mildly reproachful look. "Don't be so damn proud of yourself." She mutters, frowning at the cocky expression on his face. "All you did was have a good time and manage to knock me up in the process."

"Are you saying you didn't have a good time? Because that's not the impression I got." He retorts. "You were the one who couldn't wait to have your way with me. The moment we made into your apartment, you were all over me."

"Well forgive me for being happy to see you after spending days thinking you had just left me…. again." She says pointedly. "If I had known I would have to carry the souvenir of that night to term; I would have shown a lot more restraint."

"You don't mean that." He laughs, before his expression turns doubtful. "Do you?"

She shakes her head immediately, managing to give him a worn-out smile. "I am just tired."

"I know you are..." He nods in understanding.

"And I am bored. This bed rest thing is just the worst. Stupid doctors… what do they know anyway. " She huffs.

"Yeah… it's not like they went to medical school or anything right?" He remarks handing her the glass of cold juice he had brought her. Over the last month, as Olivia got progressively more temperamental, he had fallen into the habit of agreeing with everything she said for fear of risking a pointless argument or having her direct her general frustration with everything directly onto him.

She takes the drink from him and takes a long sip, not saying anything for a few seconds. "I should have been at work you know. I feel perfectly fine."

"I am sure you are. But I think there are rules in the Geneva Convention against making a nine months pregnant woman go chasing after suspects." He says solemnly, gratified when his quip is met with a smile instead of a frown, unpredictable as her reactions to his attempts at humor had been off late.

"You know most people enjoy having time off, more so when they're growing a baby." He points out, settling himself on the foot of the bed, as he takes her right foot in his lap as begins a gentle rubbing motion.

"I am not most people." She murmurs, laying the cold glass against her forehead in an effort to get cooler.

"Sometimes, I am not even sure you are people." He muses, which makes her raise her eyebrows at him in a silent question. "You're better… like human 2.0."

That gets a laugh out of her.

"Come on. It's fun doing nothing." He tells her in coaxing voice. "You'll get the hang of it and trust me you'll appreciate this free time in about a week when we're staying up all night to take care of that little souvenir of ours."

"Like you're really going to be the one handling those…" She rolls her eyes at him, before experimentally flexing the toes of the foot he was attempting to massage rather badly.

"So what _do _normal women do with their time off?" She asks then with a resigned sigh.

"Well from what I've been told, they're happy to be asked to sit in bed all day, eat a ton of ice cream, and flip through glossy magazines about celebrity breakups and hairstyles."

"You want me to read glossy magazines about hairstyles?" She asks raising a skeptical eyebrow at his suggestion.

"No why would you, your hair is obviously perfect." He shrugs. "And as for the ice cream I think you….I mean we….we finished all of it. Together. Clearly, we ate all the ice cream together and that's why we don't have any more left." He says cautiously.

"So that leaves what?"

"Well there is that one thing we could have done, except that stupid doctor of yours, the same one who put you on bed rest advised us against doing _that_." He gives her a meaningful look. "But you know there are always other ways…."

"Forget it." She says flatly. "I can barely stand to be in my own skin right now, let alone want to come in excessive contact with yours.

"Good… I was just making sure that sex was in fact off the table." He rolls his eyes, the corners of his lips drooping a little, making Olivia smile.

She reaches out to take his hand, giving it a little squeeze.

"How about we just talk?"

"Sure… what do you wanna talk about?"

"About you."

"About me? Why what did I do?" He looks at her in rapid succession of surprise and fear and apprehension. Olivia can literally see the wheels churning in his head as he runs over everything he has said or done in the past few days to see where he might have gone wrong.

"Nothing. You didn't do anything." She says reassuringly. "I just want to know how you're doing."

"I am fine Liv." He shrugs, giving her a surprised look. "Why wouldn't I be?"

"Well… you've been so focused on taking care of me and I know I haven't been exactly easy to be around." She says looking a little contrite. "I must be putting you through a lot."

He smiles at that. "Considering what you're being put through I'd say that's nothing really."

"I want to make sure you're okay too."

"I am okay." He shrugs.

"Nothing on your mind you feel like sharing?" She asks then, trying to coax him to talk. Olivia knows the hundred different things he's probably worried about but won't tell her for fear of adding to her own stress. She's seen him lost in pensive thought over these past few weeks, often absorbed in some contemplation that he always snapped out of the moment she was near him.

"Not really.." He says in his usual evasive way before biting his lower lips thoughtfully before he looks at her. "Well there is one thing." He says nodding gravely. "I've been giving this a lot of thought and I don't think we should lie to her you know….about Santa Clause."

Olivia blinks slowly trying to process his words, almost ready to laugh when she realizes this actually isn't one his jokes. "That's what you've been giving a lot of thought to?" She asks looking at him with a disbelieving expression.

"Well it's an important decision." He says a tad defensively. "I really don't think we should encourage her to believe in a fake idea. And you know we might as well save her the emotional trauma from being crushed when Walter bursts her bubble."

"He won't do that to his own grandchild." Olivia protests. "Would he?"

"You're talking about the man who got banned for life from the Boston Children's Museum."

"Fine… we won't pretend about Santa Clause." She says grudgingly.

"Or the tooth fairy… or Easter bunnies or any of those silly things really."

She rolls her eyes. "Fine no bunnies or fairies too. I am curious though, would you like her to actually have a childhood or should we just start treating her as an adult from the day she's born?"

He simply grins at that before his expression turns serious again. "There's something else…"

"If you want to also tell her unicorns are not real, can we at least wait till her fifth birthday to do that?"

"No… and this is serious. I've been going over this in my head for months now and I think when the time comes, we should tell her Olivia…."

"Tell her?"

"Everything… you know. The truth about me, about where I am from, the fact that her parents are from two different worlds."

Olivia coughs violently at that, some of the juice she's drinking sputtering out most ungracefully. It takes her a full few seconds to regain her poise.

"You really want to tell her everything? She asks, seeking confirmation. "You don't want our child to believe in Santa, but you want to tell her that her father is from an alternate universe?"

"Yes, because the first one of those things is not true while the second one is most definitely so…"

"Believe me; I am well aware of that fact." Olivia nods slowly. "But just because it's true doesn't mean she needs to know all about it. I mean think about this Peter"

"I have… I have been thinking about this since well we knew about the baby." His expression turns concerned. "And she should know because it affects her doesn't it? Remember different frequencies and all that jazz? She's going to be different in ways we don't even know and she might experience things we have no way of explaining to her unless we tell her the truth. "

"I suppose you have a point." Olivia nods, noticing the expression on his face. She could tell he was worried about this. About the implications their strange existence would have on their baby.

"And it's not just that." He sighs, his hand finding her belly, an odd smile on his face. "I _want _her to know. I want her to understand where she comes from Olivia. To know her place in this world. I want her to know how special and completely unique she is. I don't want her to ever feel as lost as I did before I found you."

She takes his hand in hers squeezing it gently, understanding just how important thi was for him. "We'll tell her then… just not until she's old enough."

"Of course." He nods in agreement. "At least not until she's old enough to understand quantum entanglement."

She laughs, feeling her eyelids pull as yet another wave of exhaustion overcomes her. Where earlier she would have fought it, she simply closes her eyes, too far gone to resist the urge to rest when it hit her. "I nominate you for that conversation." She keeps their hands intertwined, moving it across her stomach in gentle motions.

"Deal… if you'll take the sex talk." She hears him say.

"Like I'd let you have the sex talk with her. God knows what nonsense you'll put in her head."

"I was planning on telling her that all males except me are evil, conniving bastards who cannot be trusted and she should stay far far away from them."

She snorts derisively. "Sounds like a very healthy outlook to teach her to have. Did you also plan on covering her up in bubble wrap and never letting her out of the house?"

"No, but those sound like two great ideas."

"No Santa Claus and you for a father. I already feel bad for this kid."


	59. Chapter 59

"What happened to newlyweds drinking champagne?" She asks surprised, when he offers her a glass of whiskey.

They had had some earlier after their ceremony at the courthouse for their wedding toast.

"Yeah, some newlyweds we are. With more baggage than what gets checked into JFK every day." He gives her an amused smile, fiddling with the record player. "I'd say this was more our style wouldn't you? Guaranteed to impair your judgment and get me laid." He smirks at her. "It's your favorite kind of threesome… you, me and the bottle of scotch.

She gives him a reproachful look, before breaking out into a smile, taking a small sip before setting the glass down. "Well, I am afraid it's going to be just you and me tonight for most part. I can't really drink too much given that I am still nursing."

A lilting jazz melody begins to play softly, as he holds his hands out for her, wordlessly asking him to join him in a dance. She doesn't hesitate.

"I don't think we've ever done this before." She says slipping into his embrace as he sways them in a gentle unassuming movement. "Danced…"

There's a brief shadow in his eyes before he smiles. "Hmm… an underwhelming first considering all the things we have done together." He says tucking her head under her chin, as he continues to move them. "But yes, very nice."

"Very very nice…" Olivia repeats, grinning sappily, feeling ridiculously light hearted as he expertly twirls her around before bringing her back into his embrace.

"You know how to dance?" She raises an eyebrow at him.

"I know how to do many things."

She chuckles. "Let me guess, another skill you picked up from your million and one jobs."

"Maybe…" He gives her a mysterious smile before shrugging. "I dated a dancer once. She taught me. Told me it would make me a better lover."

"She had complaints in that department?" Olivia grins teasingly at him.

He tips her unexpectedly at that, and for a moment her stomach lurches as he holds her dangerously low on the precipice, but his hand on her lower back is firm, keeping her steady. He moves down to capture her mouth in a fierce kiss.

"Absolutely not." He murmurs against her lips then, before bringing her back to stand in a smooth gesture. She swallows, still reeling from the head rush, before he kisses her again, innocently this time. "But you know me; never miss a chance to up my game."

She laughs at his flippant remark, before looking at him with a genuinely curious expression. "Were you were hoping to become the grand master of seduction? How up does your game exactly need to be?"

"Up enough to convince the most beautiful woman in the world to be my wife." He winks at her.

"Not getting out of that one so easily Bishop." She shakes her head, even as she can feel her cheeks blush. She loops her arms around his neck. "Someday you'll tell me everything about this mysterious life of yours you led before we met."

He nods. "Someday I will. Every excruciating, painstaking detail. I'll chew your ear off till you beg me to stop."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah… right after the statute of limitations runs out." He grins at her again, making Olivia sigh in defeat, as she rests her head on his shoulder.

"Why did I agree to marry you again?" She shakes her head, an exasperated chuckle escaping her throat.

"Because I got you pregnant and you probably thought…._what the hell, I could do worse_." He deadpans, making her look up at him with mock disdain.

"Could I really?" She gives him a withering look, even as a smile fights the stubborn set of her lips.

"Absolutely." He nods. "Just think. Right now you could be dancing with some starchy, upright, clean shaven banker who has never so much as gotten a parking ticket."

"I know… the horror." She nods, taking his bait. "And instead I get a world class con man with a penchant for scruffy facial hair."

"Yeah, you settled big time." He grins, dropping a kiss on her nose.

"And you lucked out big time." She says without missing a blink.

"I sure did." He nods amiably. "Though Bishop men always tend to marry way out of their league. You have seen pictures of my mother right? How Walter ever convinced her to give him the time of day in not one but two universes is utterly beyond me. I still think she was under the influence of psychedelics when she agreed to marry him." His tone is so serious that Olivia doesn't know if he's joking.

"Well, whatever her reason, I am glad she agreed to marry him." She says bringing a hand to his cheek, pressing a kiss to his jawline. "I would never have you otherwise."

"I should probably check on Etta." She says absently then, her attention wavering towards her daughter almost inevitably. Even though Astrid had offered to take her for the night to give them the house to themselves, she had refused.

"She's fine, fast asleep. " He assures her. "We came to an understanding about tonight. She agreed to gives us the night off if we get her a vintage Mustang for her 18th birthday."

"Hmm…. Lucky us. Though I have to say, that's an oddly specific request for a seventh month old baby." Olivia remarks.

"Well…she didn't exactly verbalize it as such but I could tell that's what she wants. I mean who wouldn't." He shrugs.

"As long as you don't buy our daughter's first car from your chop shop friends, I am good."

"You're really never letting that go are you?"

She simply chuckles. "Feels like a lifetime ago, when you were calling on all your weird connections to help us solve cases…"

"It was a lifetime ago…" He reminds her. "And now look at us."

She simply smiles and takes his hand in hers; examining the ring he was wearing. _My husband, _she thinks happily, surprised by the possessive streak that laces that thought.

_Mine._

"I must say, that's a good look on you." She says, thinking how oddly becoming that ring was on his finger.

"You think?" He brings her knuckles to his lips, grazing them against her band. "Thanks and I must say you make a resplendent bride."

"Resplendent?" She arches her brow at him in amusement.

"What… it's a word? Look it up if you like."

"I know what it means." She rolls her eyes at his smug expression. "It' just weird, me being a bride, us being married."

"Yeah it is weird … now I finally know your middle name and everything." He quips, his expression dead serious.

"You didn't know that before? Why didn't you just ask?" She laughs.

"I don't know. Seems kind of an odd thing to ask someone." He shrugs.

"I had your baby, and you think asking me my middle name is odd?" She looks at him incredulously.

"Well not anymore I don't, because you're my wife now and that means…"

"That means what exactly?" She asks him her voice challenging.

"Our insurance premium goes down by a little." He retorts smoothly.

She chuckles at that unexpected reply, burying her head into his chest. "What am I going to do with you?" She mumbles, her voice muffled against his shirt.

He brings his hand to stroke her hair, kissing the top of her head, as he pulls her even closer, swaying them in an imperceptible moment.

"Absolutely anything you want sweetheart."

The music stops but they continue to dance.


	60. Chapter 60

"You know I have a lot of single friends…" Astrid offers one day as she sees him drumming the lab counter with a pair of forceps with a glassy, removed look with his feet propped up.

There is something about Peter, an aura of loneliness that makes her say that. He always looks lost, always a little lonely, even when there are people around him, even when he probably has friends on every continent.

He turns the swivel chair towards her direction, smiling at her earnest expression, looking equally amused and oddly touched by her gesture. That an upright FBI agent like her wants to willingly introduce him…. a criminal with a rap sheet longer than her resume to her friends out of the goodness of her heart.

People were really going out of their way to trust him off-late. He might be in danger of getting used to it.

Which if the past is any indication, is a really really bad idea.

"Fun fact about us dubious con men with questionable morals… shockingly, not good news at all when it comes to women." He tells her dryly before giving her a grateful smile, shrugging.

"I'd hate for you to lose your friends because of me. But thanks really."

There is an undercurrent of sincerity and a good amount of surprise in the way he says it. Like he can't believe that she would reach out to him.

Astrid smiles back, too brightly, not saying anything as he goes back to his drumming. She doesn't understand so much about Peter. He puzzles her with his contradictory demeanors. The way he owns his genius intellect with suave and a liberal dose of cocky swagger, completely at ease with the fact that more than often he is the smartest or at least the second smartest person in the room, if said room also was host to his father that is. The way he is never unsure of himself or his abilities to get things done.

But she's also seen the way he keeps his distance from those around him. The self-deprecating air he assumes without realizing it. She knows that he views himself in much the same vein the world sees him on paper. As a self-serving man who is only good at looking out for himself, as someone who'll surely hurt or disappoint anybody who makes the mistake of taking a chance on him.

He's much too firmly convinced of his own faults to ever believe he is so much more than them.

She's seen the way he is around Olivia, the way he looks at her when she turns to him before anyone else for answers, almost always baffled that she is willing to trust him, that someone like her actually relies on _him._

Astrid has seen that scared look in his eyes. He's uncomfortable with it, being trusted, being needed. He's afraid of letting Olivia down, is almost expecting it from himself.

For all his confidence, he's waiting to inevitably screw up, to fail and be told to beat it.

That he is a good man is never of any doubt to her. She doesn't care what she has been told during the FBI briefing. Yes, he has flaws. Troubling flaws but those flaws don't mar the truth about him.

Because she's seen it for herself. He might be capable of violence and anger, of deceit and manipulation even, but there was no cruelty in him. At his heart, he wasn't capable of unkindness. No matter how much he believed he was.

Astrid s thinks his soul is much too broken for him to ever want to inflict hurt upon someone else. It's evident in the way he looks out for Olivia. She knows Peter has feelings for her, maybe even before he realizes it. But she also knows he won't act on it. It's the strange thing about him. He can charm his way into any stranger's heart but he keeps the people he cares about at arm's length. He would rather flirt with a dozen different women everyday than admit to Olivia how he feels about her.

And Olivia... Astrid suspects she has more than feelings for him, that she's already fallen for him, hard. It's uncanny but she sees it. Even when she's nothing if not poised and professional and there's nothing to suggest romantic interest on her part. It's in the quiet desperation with which she seeks out Peter, like he's the only one who keeps her tethered to reality in this place where the absurd plays out on a daily basis. The way she gets ever so slightly anxious when she arrives in the mornings and he's not here. The wordless question in her eyes as they try to find him, afraid somehow that he's left and not coming back.

The way she smiles when he makes some witty comment.

It's the only time she really smiles, when it reaches her eyes.

* * *

"Nelly?" Olivia reads the name on her coffee cup with a curious expression, noting several digits scrawled next to a childish heart made in red marker. "Is this someone else's order?" She looks at Astrid curiously.

"Oh no… that's the barista at the coffee place." Astrid laughs. "She has a bit of a crush on Peter. Flirts with him every time we make a coffee run."

"Oh…" Olivia gives her a small, uncomfortable smile before going back to her case file. "I should pass this onto him then I suppose. She must be expecting his call…"

_Interesting…_

"She's wasting her time. Peter's not interested." Astrid tells her with a confident smile.

The relief on her face is subtle but unmistakable. "What makes you so sure he isn't?" She jokes, averting her eyes from hers.

"If he was, he'd have called her last week when she wrote her number down on his coffee cup." She tells her. "Or the week before that."

"I see." Olivia manages to keep her face and voice impressively neutral.

"Yeah, to tell you the truth I think he finds her rather annoying." Astrid says unable to stifle a grin at her colleague's desperately severe poker face. "She gets all giggly and idiotic every time she sees him."

She chuckles then, shaking her head. "Wonder why he keeps going back there then?" She says curiously.

"Because…" She says with a knowing smile. "He knows you like the coffee from there."

Olivia breaks out in a full smile at that, her face lighting up with an indescribable expression before she nods and turns her attention back to her paper work, her composure regained within a few seconds.

Astrid doesn't miss the way her eyes briefly linger on the coffee cup though, regarding it as if it were something truly precious.

_This is going to be really interesting,_ Astrid thinks.


	61. Chapter 61

"Don't you ever regret it?" Olivia asks her as they sit in the lab that night. "Giving so much of yourself to this job?"

_Do you?_ Astrid thinks but doesn't say it. Because she knows the comparison isn't valid.

It's not the same after all.

It had started out as a job for both of them, but it was always more for Olivia. The lines between personal and professional firmly merged once Peter came into her life.

The third point that made up the triangle that connected her and Walter.

This was Olivia's family, not just in some metaphorical sense like it was for Astrid but built on ties of blood and love and loyalty, hard earned through ordeals of loss and pain.

This was her everything.

Astrid is simply the interloper, as uncharitable as the implication of it is, pulled into their world by virtue of being there from the beginning. But it doesn't change what she knows or how she feels about these people.

Or how they feel about her.

"What is there to regret?" She shrugs.

"You lost twenty one years .You could have had a different life if it wasn't for us." She says gently, guilt rife in her eyes as if she was responsible for it. "You could have found someone, had a family of your own."

"We all could have had different lives." Astrid smiles, makes light of it.

Olivia should know better than most. She _had_ a different life and she chose to sacrifice it, all of it, trading an entire lifetime of memories for another that never took place, only because she loved Peter so much.

"And as for me finding someone I've pretty much given up on that…. I blame Peter. Your husband has forever ruined men for me."

Olivia laughs at that and Astrid remembers…

* * *

How every time he brought flowers for Olivia, he'd bring her some too.

"Why couldn't you be my boyfriend now?" She'd joked the first time he'd shown up in the lab, a bunch of white tulips in one hand for Olivia and carnations in another for her, touched by his thoughtfulness.

"If I were you, I'd count my blessings that I am not." He'd winked at her, walking towards a very amused Olivia. "I happen to be rather high maintenance, what with being from a parallel universe and an alternate timeline and defying time-space continuums. Liv will agree with me. She probably rues the day she fell victim to my dastardly charms. "

"Do I ever." Olivia had rolled her eyes at Astrid, blushing violently then as he gave her a peck on the cheek and set the flowers next to her, his hand travelling to her stomach where the beginnings of a baby bump had just about emerged, his eyes speaking volumes about how he felt.

Watching them in their wordless exchange, it's the first time, Astrid had ever been envious.

It's not because she wanted Peter. It was never that.

But how could she ever love and not have her expectations shattered, be inevitably disappointed , knowing what she knew, that there was a man who had once crossed timelines and universes for the woman he loved.

Because he had shown her what love was supposed to be like, how deep it could run and because Astrid had come to realize…. so few men were capable of loving like that.

Without even meaning to, Peter Bishop had _really_ ruined men for her.

Though she never held that against them. She had always shared a close and cherished friendship with him, even without their past. It wasn't like what Peter had with Olivia; nobody could ever have that of course.

But it was different and it was unique and it was theirs.

"You'd be my work wife." He'd said to her once in jest. "Except my wife is already my work wife."

He was always charming to boot, unwaveringly so, old school smooth without ever being sleazy, without once over reaching. But there was a genuine sweetness and sincerity beneath the suave. There was always a kind smile and a sparkling look in his eyes that made any woman feel special, whether it was the elderly cleaning lady who was part of their service staff or the brilliant CSU research assistant with super model like cheekbones who ran labs for them.

They all fell for him. They all loved him a little. Even Ms. Green, the stern librarian at Widener library who legend had it had made an undergrad cry once for an overdue book and had for three years frowned and pursed her lips at Astrid whenever she used her FBI special credentials to check out rare books from Harvard's extensive collection.

Even she melted every time Peter brandished a smile at her and asked after her granddaughter and her latest flute recital, always bringing her a red velvet cupcake because she liked it and then have her personally assist them in finding every book Astrid wanted, while the woman, old enough to be his mother would blush a profuse red and hang on to his every word.

Though Astrid doubts Peter noticed all that much. He was always much too in love with his wife to ever acknowledge the rest of womankind's interest in him.

Olivia had laughed when Astrid had pointed out his cluelessness about the effect he had on women.

"If you knew the old Peter Bishop. You would never say that. Trust me, he knows exactly what he's doing." She had then given her an amused smile, no real resentment in her expression. "Don't let him fool you with the saint act Astrid. He's probably slept his way through all major European capitals and at least half of Boston."

Astrid had always found that hard to buy, even after Peter corroborated it unintentionally after his nth travel story featuring some exotic woman with a volatile life story.

"You didn't try to hit on me did you?" She'd asked him once, worried suddenly about this history they'd shared that never transpired, that allowed him to know her with such familiarity right down to the amount of sprinkles she liked in her Mocha Frappuccino without her telling him.

"Oh God no. I could never think of you that way." He'd looked mortified, at a loss of words for once and then suddenly embarrassed. "Not that you're not attractive because you are very much so…. though it's not like I was checking you out or anything."

"You should stop talking now." She had laughed at his fumbling response, amused at the acute discomfort in his expression as he tried to talk his way out of the awkwardness.

She'd surely have fallen for him a little too…. Astrid thought, in the other timeline, she must have… if she hadn't known that he only ever had eyes for Olivia.

Until Etta came along and he became captivated with every breath she took that is.

"Are you sure you cleared this with Broyles?" She had asked with a curious expression when she walked in one morning to see him setting up a fisher price playpen by the window in the office at the back.

He'd shrugged. "As long as he keeps making us work crazy unpredictable hours, he doesn't have much of a choice does he? We already got kicked out of three daycare centers and not one of the dozen nannies we interviewed will agree to work around our insane schedules."

"So…you're going to have the baby around in a lab where dangerous and classified activity happens every day?"

"That's the plan. World's best dad right here." He'd grinned at her. "I have to watch Etta and I have to be in the lab. This takes care of both those things. And Walter certainly doesn't mind. Quite the opposite actually. He's ready to convert the whole room into a nursery." He'd then looked at her, a little chagrined as if a thought just occurring to him. "Unless of course you do. I am sorry I should have asked. This is your workplace too and this is hardly professional."

She'd smiled at his words. "If I wanted professional, I'd have looked for a new job ages ago."

Someone else _would_ have probably looked for a new job. Astrid had helped Peter baby proof the office and bought a musical crib toy to hang over the playpen. Had sung to Etta and bought books to keep in the lab to read to her, watching her while her parents got called to the field.

She was Etta's godmother after all…. though the Bishops hadn't exactly been much for church going or christening ceremonies for her to ever have the honor conferred upon her officially.

But Olivia had asked her the day Etta was born and it was good enough for her.

* * *

_"You'll take care of her for us, if something ever happens to us?" She'd asked her expression unsure, nervous, Olivia like. "I know it's a lot to ask…"_

_"Of course I will." She'd assured her. _

* * *

At times when dealing with Walter simply got too much, Peter would seek her, patience stretched to breaking point, a thin veneer of frustration on his face.

"Get your coat." He would say to her, pleadingly. "Let's take a walk."

She remembers walking with him around Harvard Square in downtown Cambridge, Etta in tow, tucked away in a stroller, where they would talk about things, about their mutual love for languages, hers cultivated through years and years of rigorous study, his effortlessly picked up through the course of his extensive travels and an IQ that was fifty points north of genius.

It still amuses her, the looks of envy she remembers coming her way when passersby saw her with the two of them, another woman's husband and someone else's child.

And yet it had felt like they were as much her family as Olivia's.

"My mother loved Cambridge." He'd told her once, when it was raining and they had been hiding in some quaint café waiting for Olivia to join them for lunch. "Especially when it rained. Reminded her of England I suppose. She was British you know… I don't know if Walter ever told you that."

Walter hadn't Walter never spoke of his wife, maintaining an unusual silence over that aspect of his life for a man with little filtering system.

The woman whose pictures lined his bedroom in the lab, beautiful in the way beautiful really meant something, sharp features and a riot of rich brown curls.

Both of which Peter had inherited, along with that melancholy that sometimes seemed to take hold of him.

"Do you miss it?" She had asked him then. "Your old life?"

He'd simply smiled, settling Etta on his lap as he handed her a sippy cup of orange juice, which she grabbed at with both of her chubby hands.

"It was fun." He'd shrugged, pressing a kiss to his daughter's blonde head, his lips lingering for a second. "But it wasn't much of a life really."

"And playing Frankenstein with your father is?" She'd asked playfully, genuinely curious why he never sought to make more of himself.

The obvious pull of Olivia apart…

With his intelligence and skill, he could be running a million dollar corporation instead of spending every day in a basement lab.

"I get to spend my days with people I care about; doing something that helps people. What could be a better life than that?" He'd asked a content smile playing on his lips.

"I guess not."

* * *

"Do you regret it?" Peter asks her two days later after Olivia does, after Walter has yet another of his vacillating episodes and lashes out at her. "Being stuck here with us."

It's not the same Peter who brought her carnations or regaled her with stories who looks at her now. The light in his eyes, long faded.

Etta took that away with her, twice.

But the concern is the same, the sincerity still there.

* * *

_"And Peter too." Olivia had added after a shaky pause, running her hands gently over the newborn's fuzzy scalp, her attention somewhat divided, as if a thought had just occurred to her. "If something ever happened to me?"_

_She'd looked at her, a pained expression on her face. "I know him. He can make a million friends around the globe but he doesn't let people in easily. You're one of the few. Astrid… there's no one else I would trust to watch over my family..." _

_"I will…" She'd said._

* * *

"What's there to regret?" She shrugs.


	62. Chapter 62

She sits at her desk, looking outside her door and takes in the frenzy of activity. Nobody has time to breathe anymore. Everybody's fighting a losing battle, trying to keep law and order in a world that was turning into a hot mess in front of them.

She has worked hard for this bureau, given her everything to it, invested emotionally in every case she had ever had.

She has helped families find each other again, brought closure to people about their loved ones, given them the comfort of truth.

In this very office, she had once reunited a man with his missing son.

And yet today, no one can help her find her child.

No one even seems to be trying…

One little girl can become irrelevant when the fate of the world seems to have turned and some rational part of her can still find it possible to grapple with that soul-numbing truth.

But to her… her little girl was her entire world. It doesn't matter if the rest of the planet didn't see that. It doesn't matter if they were all doomed to die anyway.

What mattered was that for four days now… her daughter had been missing, had vanished from right in front of their eyes like she had never existed.

Except she did, her essence was infused within every inch of that house she had left in the morning, almost like she was compelled to get away from that black hole that was sucking the life out of her.

The lab was out of the question as she couldn't bear to have Walter desperately try to convince her of outrageous ways in which they could trace Etta, every one of which had ended only in failure and heartbreak.

And Peter…. it was like something had possessed him, lost as he was in the quest to find Etta… he didn't even look at her anymore, almost like it pained him to see her face and be reminded of their daughter.

But even here, in this impersonal space that she rarely used, she couldn't escape the painful reminders of what was now lost to her.

The picture frames, a pair of bright blue and red little hands imprinted on paper with her name written in squiggly letters that her daughter had given to her to put on her desk with beaming pride, the time she had brought her to her office.

* * *

_"You can see everything from here mommy…" She had exclaimed as she looked down from the high rise of the FBI headquarters, her face almost stuck to the glass window, looking at the expanse of the city from there. _

_"How come daddy doesn't have such a nice office?" She had asked almost immediately afterwards, making Olivia laugh._

_"That's because daddy's not important as your mom." Peter had chuckled, meeting her eye. "He doesn't get fancy offices or nameplates on doors…. Or even a gun." He had whispered the last part into her ear. _

_"Quit complaining. Like you actually care about any of those things." She had shrugged. "For your brains, you could have been running some multi-national corporation if you'd really wanted that kind of life."_

_"And yet I choose to work for you." He had said with a put on sigh._

_"With me." She had corrected him._

_"Same thing boss."_

* * *

She runs her hand over the mismatched letters that spelt her name, biting back a sob, struggling to not break down in front of everyone.

"Hey…"

She looks up at the sound of the deep and gravelly voice, to find her boss standing at her doorway.

"I didn't know you were coming in. You shouldn't be here." He says his voice less gruff than usual.

"No I shouldn't be." She nods.

"We have a team working on finding Etta." Broyles mentions to her after a moment of silence.

"I am sure you do." She says scornfully.

"Where's Bishop?"

"I don't know… out somewhere, tracking some lead I suppose." She mumbles.

"We need to talk about him. I've been getting some reports about the things he's been doing…."

"He's trying to find his daughter. I think it's safe to assume he'll do what it takes."

He nods, before taking a deep sigh. "You know in light of everything, maybe it's better if he didn't become involved, let the authorities do their jobs. And bureau policy does dictate…"

"You clearly don't know Peter very well if you think any of that matters to him." She interjects him, "And if I were you, I would rethink trying to shove bureau policy in his face."

"I know you're under duress, and I can understand…" He says, his voice still patient.

"You don't understand anything." She says forcefully, not caring how rude she sounds. "And you're delusional if you think I have any influence over Peter at this point."

"You're his partner… and his wife. You must understand I only have your best interests at heart. But I cannot stand by and let him do some of the things he's been doing…"

"Agent Broyles." She cuts him off curtly. "You're right. I am his partner and his wife and I know him and you don't. In fact, there are very many things you don't know about him. But if you have any respect for my advice at all, you will not try and get in his way. He is a very dangerous man when he is tested."

"Is that a threat?" His voice is low, grim.

"It's a warning." She says without a moment's hesitation. "You have no idea what Peter is capable of and the last thing you want right now is to unleash him. He's going to do what he wants. You can either waste your time trying to stop him and make your life that much more difficult or you can let him be and focus on something you have a chance in hell of fixing."

He looks at her, the set of his jawline tense before his expression softens a little. He nods and turns to leave. But he lingers at the door for a second, considering her with a curious expression.

"Is that what you're doing here?" He asks then. "Trying to fix something?"

She blinks, feeling the tears rise up her throat for the millionth time in the past few days, before she swallows purposefully, her eyes straying to the pictures of her daughter.

Her voice is nothing more than broken whisper.

"I don't know what I am doing anymore."

The next minute, she gathers the photos along with the finger painting that bore her daughter's name and walks out of that building, away from the job that had once defined her, given her a sense of purpose and justice, motivated her to right the world's wrongs.

She never looks back again.


	63. Chapter 63

"You were always her favorite, you know." Olivia whispers into the night. Her head resting against his chest, fingers lazily drumming against his skin.

He tilts his head downwards, ceasing the stroking movement of his fingers in her hair, a question in his eyes, a small smile.

"She loved us equally." He murmurs then, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

She nods and he feels her lips curve into a smile in the darkness. "But she liked you more." There's no resentment in her voice when she says it. Simply an acceptance of the state of things.

They've had this conversation once before, he remembers.

The first night… Etta had fussed and squirmed in his arms, protesting with unhappy murmurs and chubby uncoordinated arms swinging at his face, as she strived to move away from him and into her mother's arms.

_"Maybe you should take her." He'd said after a few minutes... giving her a dejected smile. _

_"I don't think she likes me very much."_

_She'd smiled and shaken her head, reaching for his shirt as she opened up a couple of the buttons at the top._

_"The contact will relax her." She'd said to him confidently when he raised a single brow at her in question. _

_And sure enough she settled…. for good, minuscule ear pressed against the cotton of his undershirt, smidgen of a nose burrowed against the bare skin of his sternum, as she sniffled and made a content sigh and gave into sleep._

_"I think she likes you just fine." She'd whispered over the sleeping infant's head as she tip toed to kiss him, her hand joining his to rake through the wisps of blond hair. _

His little Etta…

Does the ache ever go away he wonders, as he feels his chest clench painfully. Without the numbing relief that vengeance had offered him not so long ago, the grief was that much rawer, forced as he was to reconcile with the truth that she really was gone.

She really was gone and all he had left were memories, every one of which made him smile and then sting him in the same vein, leaving him feeling like he'd been gutted, right after the fleeting moments of joy they afforded him.

"That's because she always knew I'd let her get away with just about anything." Peter jokes, makes light of it, trying not to act on the sudden and intense urge to simply break down and cry that takes hold of him every now and then.

Not that Olivia would think him weak if he gave into it. After all who understood better than her? But there was no sense in upsetting her. She was already trying so hard to keep her worries about him at bay.

"I was always such a pushover when it came to her." He presses on.

She chuckles, her hand travelling to his chin, fingers lightly tracing the stubble. "Even so, you were always so much better with her."

He doesn't contest her statement, because he knows she won't believe him if he did.

"Only because you showed me how." He says instead.

All the enthusiasm he had for wanting to be a father did not change the fact that he had known next to nothing about taking care of a child.

Olivia was the one who taught him to be a parent, she forgets that, he thinks… to change diapers and to support her head when he held her in those early days, his embrace shaky and fumbling, far from steady, to understand her cries and differentiate hunger from fatigue, to know how to swaddle her at nights so that she would be warm but not feel constricted or kick off her blankets and be cold, to know how to soothe her teething pains and rashes and fevers and colds.

Olivia had taught him all that and more.

The love had always come naturally, perhaps the intuition too, that special bond he'd shared with Etta, but it was Olivia who showed him it took more….. patience, and dedication…. a singular commitment to the task of raising a child. It was she who made him appreciate the value of stability , the importance of routine and the necessity of temperance in a child's life, qualities he'd never possessed and struggled to achieve, while she held his hand through it all… understanding, encouraging, fixing his mistakes for him without ever letting him feel like a failure…

If he'd been any good at fatherhood at all, it was because of her.

"Thanks." He tells her then.

"What for?" Her voice is curious, puzzled.

"For teaching me to be a dad and not suck at it." He hugs her tighter to his self, his hand moving down to her waist.

It's important that she knows this, he thinks, the debt he owes her.

"The first time I tried to give Etta a bath and she slipped into the water, I thought you would leave me and take her with you and I'd never see either of you again." He chuckles, remembering how he'd panicked and grabbed her foot as she emerged back up red faced, wet and mewling unhappily as she coughed up soapy water.

Was it the infantile memory of that day that made her so averse to baths as a toddler, he wonders.

"The thought crossed my mind for a brief second." She admits.

Olivia had been livid. He'd never seen her that angry, shaking with fear and anxiety as she gently bundled the soaked and crying infant into a fluffy towel and tried to placate her.

_"I am sorry … I am so sorry….I screwed up." He'd said wretchedly, on his knees as she set on the edge of the tub. "I obviously shouldn't be doing this. I won't, I swear Liv. I won't even come near her if you don't want me to."_

_She'd looked at him then, long and hard, taking a deep breath as Etta too quieted from the mini ordeal. _

_"Of course you will." She'd said firmly, squeezing his hand. "You need to just get some practice at balancing her. Try it again." She'd said._

_"You're kidding?" He'd looked at her incredulously, shying away from her hands as she tried to hand him the baby. "I almost just killed her." _

_"You'll be fine." She'd assured him. "I'll be right here."_

"I am not surprised." He mutters. "But you didn't. You stayed and taught me how to hold her so I wouldn't let her slip and fall again."

"Well, you were a quick study." She laughs quietly against his chest.

"Seriously Liv..." He cups her face, placing a kiss on her lips. "Thank you."

She nods. "You taught me too, you know." She says then, looking up at him with an expression of gratitude. "Many things…so many things Peter."

"I guess we learnt from each other." He kisses her forehead and resumes stroking her hair as she closes her eyes.

"Though I am not still sure I was Etta's favorite." He says after a few minutes

"You were." She says assuredly, eyes still closed. "You always were."

She burrows further into his embrace. "But that's okay." She pats his chest.

"You were always my favorite too."


	64. Chapter 64

She squints at the sunlight, lifting up her shades to look at the expanse of the ocean in front of her. She flexes her toes stretching out on the beach towel, where she's been lying down and not doing much else for over half an hour. The sun feels absolutely glorious on her skin and she feels like she could just melt into the sand.

_"Only you would think that's a great idea for a vacation." She jokes the first time he suggests it, the morning after they come back from the hospital. "After everything Peter…"_

_"Exactly… it'll be like the eye of the storm. Calm, quiet just what we need…." He grins sleepily from below the blankets, hair still sleep tousled. "It makes perfect sense. And it really is very peaceful up there… when someone is not trying to rip holes in the fabric of the universe that is." _

And despite the fact that she'll never admit it to him even if she was being tortured, he had been right. She loves coming here, so much so that summer weekends near Reiden Lake becomes one of the few things that could qualify as a family tradition for them.

Walter had given them the beach house as a wedding present, refusing absolutely to take no for an answer despite Peter's protests.

"You're my son. Who else would I give it to?" He'd asked finally, effectively shutting Peter up.

They'd worked hard to fix it up, to make it habitable once again. It had taken a lot of time and investment.

But it was more than worth it Olivia thinks, as she basks in the summer warmth. Because they had this little slice of heaven far away from their hectic and insane lives to which they could escape every now and then.

A whole week of this, she thinks happily, amused at how much she looked forward to these yearly holidays, given her workaholic tendencies. A whole week of no cases of crazy or freaky but simply time with her family, long sunny days on the beach. Of books she could finally get around reading and watching movies that had languished in their Netflix queue for ages and maybe even a picnic or two by the lake.

Her stomach hums with light pangs of hunger and she considers walking back to the house to get something to eat , but then decides to wait a little while longer and let Etta do the work for her and persuade Peter into fixing them a proper lunch instead of eating cereal which is probably what she would end up doing.

It's not that Olivia was a bad cook. It's just that she wasn't particularly good either, a fact her daughter had made amply clear to her in her very undiplomatic, innocent honesty when she told her she preferred her father's cooking to hers and couldn't they just let daddy make dinner from now on?

An arrangement that works just fine if you asked her.

Her gaze drifts idly to a few feet away where Etta, dressed in a bright purple bathing suit and Peter, also in his trunks are busy finishing up a monstrous sand castle, with Peter trying in vain to explain to their daughter the importance of structural integrity in designing a building, only to have Etta jab her finger vindictively at one of the 'towers' causing it to collapse in a heap and then giggle uncontrollably.

Olivia catches his eye in amusement and he sighs, moving over to join her.

"Guess we won't be needing that college fund for MIT after all." He says with a shrug, rolling onto his stomach, as he picks up the book he was reading earlier. "The kid looks like she'd be happier working the cranes on the demolition crew."

"And so the cycle of Bishop paternal disappointment resumes." She says dryly, looking up at him, her lips twitching in humor. "And here I thought Walter was wrong to make high and unfair expectations of you."

He cocks an eyebrow at her, his expression in mock disapproval, before he breaks out into a grin. "Walter liked to say that the potential for destruction in each of us is infinite. He was right clearly." He shrugs sideways at Etta who having found the outcome of her previous action to her liking was busy methodically smashing in the towers they had spent the past twenty minutes erecting.

" Such a little vandal." He murmurs, taking in her enthusiasm.

"Let her be." She says lazily, closing her eyes. Her one hand comes up to take his and she moves it to place it on her midriff, intertwining them. "You can teach her all about structural integrity and load bearing beams when she's old enough to understand… or care even."

"You're in a good mood." He says with mild surprise in his tone.

"I am in an excellent mood." She mumbles, eyes still closed.

"Usually takes about two glasses of wine to get you this loosened up." He chuckles, causing her to open her eyes to give him a look. "Whatever happened to you being no good at sitting around, doing nothing?"

"After three years of running after suspects and then coming home to run around after Etta, I've come to the conclusion that sitting around and doing nothing is the best idea ever."

"Couldn't agree more." He nods, bending down to kiss her shoulder. "Especially when you do it in a bikini." His fingers lightly dip into her navel skimming the bare skin, right above said bikini.

"Have you forgotten we're in public?" She says sternly, but only just, almost half-heartedly. She does release his hand from hers though, moving it away from her midriff, placing it beside her.

He simply smirks. "There's a reason why we come here of all the places one could go to on the Eastern seaboard. There's never anybody around except us."

She nods, allowing him to then brush away the strands of hair that have fallen over her face, his hand lingers over her cheek and she leans into his touch.

"What?" She asks after a couple of seconds, looking at the curious expression on his face.

"Nothing it's just….. It makes me really happy to see you like this." He says.

"In a bikini?" She gives him an amused, questioning look.

"There's that yes." He grins, allowing his eyes to run over the expanse of her body with undisguised admiration, before meeting her gaze more sincerely. "But I was talking about how nice it is to see you simply relax and not worry so much about everything. It's really great to see you so happy Olivia. "

She looks at the genuine gratification on his face and feels her own lips break into a wider smile. It occurs to her then, how hard it must be at times for him to watch her spiral into her burdens, to be so constantly dissatisfied with the world, to never let up and simply experience the moment.

It must be hard on him to think she was discontented when he strived so much to make her happy.

"Well, I am trying to be better at this you know." Her hand comes to rest upon his chest, as she swallows, looking up to meet his puzzled expression. She shrugs. "Living…"

"Peter I…" she begins to explain, wanting him to know that she really did appreciate all that he did for her, even if didn't seem like that often. But he cuts her off with a kiss.

"It's not that hard really…" He murmurs against her lips after a few seconds. "You just keep breathing and the rest takes care of itself."

She smiles, closing her eyes, as he drops a kiss on her nose, a slightly dangerous gleam setting into his eyes as they speak of things later to come, when they've put Etta down for a nap maybe and locked themselves up in the bedroom.

And suddenly the heat of the sun almost seems negligent compared to what was oozing out of her pores.

"Daddy… "

Etta's long drawl breaks her out of her thoughts and she sits up to look at where her daughter was standing by the ruins of a half collapsed sand castle, looking at them both with a slightly impatient expression.

"I am hungry." She says then.

Peter sighs, standing up to dust the sand off of himself.

"Yeah, single handedly destroying a sand castle that took us an hour to build will do that to a girl." He holds out his hand to her. "Come on kiddo, let's get you some lunch."

He drops a kiss to Olivia's forehead. "I'll bring us back something too, kay Liv."

She nods smiling that her calculation had proven correct and almost calls after him, to remind him to check her cellphone in case Broyles called. But she simply stops and lies back on the beach towel, closing her eyes once again.

It really was so peaceful up here…


	65. Chapter 65

_Mine, mine, mine…_

For years, she's been writing her name onto every inch of him. With every kiss, every caress of her hands, every intense gaze that slices right into his soul.

There's a streak of possession that underlines her love for him. It's not petty or jealous or insecure. But there's something uncompromising about the way she looks at him that seeks to stake claim over him, speaks of ownership.

Olivia is protective about what's hers, territorial even. He's known that since the time she watched him with that odd disconcerting expression on her face and asked him why he called Rachel. At the time he'd thought it was her way of reminding him there were walls he shouldn't try and break. That her world and the people in it were hers and she wasn't interested in sharing with him.

It never occurred to him till much later that maybe he had it the other way around, that maybe it was him she didn't want to share.

At work, she was always the consummate professional, never breaching the fuzzy lines that divided their work and family lives. But outside of that, she would take his hand readily enough, lean in, put her arms around him and kiss him without a second thought should the fancy strike her. Anywhere else she would introduce him as her husband with a quiet confidence, a hint of pride even. A statement not meant to boast or even signify his unavailability to the world but simply because…

_My husband, my daughter, my family …._

She had a tendency to put her name on things. Yogurt and juice boxes that she kept in the lab's refrigerator, Styrofoam cups, files, note pads…

She gave their daughter a hyphenated surname and put hers before his.

He never contested her decision, more surprised than anything that she even included his name at all. And he never thought of it as reflecting upon himself, or indicative of any doubts about his commitment to their life together when she signed her name as primary on all on their mortgage and insurance documents.

There are things in her he could never fight, deep seated instincts to protect herself from abandonment that he couldn't change no matter how often or how firmly he said his _I love yous._

Because the problem was never that she didn't believe him.

It's just that belief wasn't quite enough to undo the litany of disappointments that life had dealt her before him, her history too scathed for trust to be an easy concept.

He gets it. It's a fear that comes from having lost so much in life. She likes to be in control, sure of every variable, accounted for.

It's never been his style.

She's asked him once in jest if she was expecting her to take his name when they would be married and he'd blinked at her, truly surprised.

_ "Why would you want to do that?"_ He'd asked genuinely baffled, curious to know the motive behind such a gesture.

There was no part of him that ever wanted to claim Olivia for himself, brand her for taken through ritual or rings or shared surnames. He would never be the person who could look at somebody and need to be absolutely certain of their allegiance.

He's not one for owning…. anything, let alone mark her for himself. Olivia was his as much as she wanted to be…if she wanted to be…

Those were terms he always left for her to decide.

Peter has never had much by way of belongings, except maybe for a fondness for collecting books he shares with his father. When you're a man who seeks to live without roots, things means little, possessions can easily turn into a burden, weigh you down.

He has traveled the world conning warlords and fencing antiques, making and then gambling away six figure sums in a span of twenty four hours. He did those things because he can, because he could get away with it and because somehow being that person who could get away with it gave him some respite from the unbearable pain of being himself, of having to actually try at being anything more. But the truth is as far as he was once willing to go for it, money means almost next to nothing to him.

He never needed to be sure of anything more than the air he breathes in and out of his lungs. He's spent his nights in five start hotel suites under thousand thread count sheets and under bridges with nothing more than the open skies, and he's slept just fine in both cases.

His running days may be behind him, but he's still the same person. It's not in his nature to assert claim over anything or anyone. He doesn't care much for labels, or rights that are extensions of those labels.

He never wanted much… of anything, Olivia included.

He needs her of course… more than oxygen, but that's neither here nor there.

If they couldn't have had anything more than the odd moment between saving the world, he would have taken it without complaints and been just as happy. The assurance of tomorrow was never a deal breaker. Truth be told, he was almost certain they would never have more than the present. Odd, how for someone who's been in the thick of multiple futures and infinite outcomes, it never occurred to him that there was a future with nice things like marriage and babies that might pan out for them.

It didn't exactly…if one got technical, but then why be so cruel?

But those assurances were important to Olivia. They always were.

She never liked not knowing.

That's why he cuts the ring out of the cord around his neck and slips it back onto his finger. Because he knows the absence of it bothers her far more than it rattles him, even if she'll never say it, never ask him. Her naked finger far less of an unsettling sight to him than his was to hers.

Her eye catches it the next morning and she raises a brow in surprise She doesn't ask of course, like he knew she wouldn't, but he meets her gaze, nodding wordlessly, answering the question that probably took root in her mind all those years ago when she left for New York and he wouldn't go with her.

_Yours,_ he tells her without needing to say the words.

_Always yours…_


	66. Chapter 66

Her name was Olivia and she loved him.

That was always her story, the rest is just background.

He can think of the many things he could say, the many things he will invariably say when he stands up there tomorrow to give her eulogy, the account of her deeds, the greatness she had achieved and more of which she had been capable.

The million things that made her who she was… brave, beautiful, fragile, stubborn, and unyielding.

So broken but real…

But that's merely detail, detail to that fundamental truth that made her story, of a woman who loved a man more than anything else, more than he certainly deserved.

He knows how egoistical it sounds, chauvinistic even to strip away her narrative like that, of a woman who literally radiated strength and courage and wore her complexity and her burdens better than most, boil it down to something that solely hinged on his presence or absence in her life.

But the fact remains, life as in death, she was governed by her love for him, ruled by her heart foremost, before anything else.

He's not foolish to presume. He knows this to be true only because she told him.

Of all the victories that came their way, the knowledge that they had lived a life together was the one that meant the most to her, the most hard earned one too. The fact that they made it work

It wasn't easy and it wasn't all fairytale.

But most days, when he woke up to her and then went home with her and they'd stand around their kitchen, talking about the day they had and mundane domestic concerns.

It sure felt like one, too perfect to be true and yet so astonishingly real.

The world that knew her a hero and a leader, brave to boot, an assuring if somewhat insufficient presence in a universe that was systematically going to pieces. It's a story that writes itself, clichéd, trite, inspiring to those who still seek inspiration, of a martyr and a warrior, a brave soul fallen to a cause that was already lost when he stepped into a machine fifteen years ago.

And who better to tell it than him.

He's a good story teller. He always has been, narratives of travels and encounters that he can recant with great fervor. He would tell Olivia stories of his life in bed, when under the covers they forgot for a while and pretended everything outside was not terribly wrong. Road trips and odd jobs, bar fights and drunken escapades with strange and beautiful women, cons that went well and those that ended badly, usually with him in a hospital. He loved making her laugh, amusing her, shocking her even, allowing her windows into his past, offering her some respite from their deteriorating present.

He's a good story teller, and when the time comes tomorrow, he will live up to the claim. He will play the part of the grieving widower with perfect grace and aplomb. He will give the people what they came for, a story to seek inspiration in an already hopeless world, a hero to believe in.

It will be moving, heartfelt and later people will come up to him to shake his hand and tell him what a beautiful eulogy he gave, tell him how sorry they are for his loss.

And they'll all walk away never knowing her real story.

There was an Olivia that only he knew, whose story was for him to keep and treasure, folded away inside his heart. The one whom he traded card tricks with in a bar in Cambridge over beer, and went monster hunting with in the sewers, who he pulled out of a rusty tank of water, wet, shivering, barely clothed more than once and sat next to in a bench telling her she wasn't alone, who kissed him in a different universe and then again in his kitchen, telling him she wanted to be with him. Of how, when they were newlyweds, she made him carry her over the threshold to their apartment which was two floors up, refusing to let them take the elevator, giggling uncharacteristically as she distracted him with languid kisses, causing them to bump into corners one too many times. Who he'd sometimes pull into the janitor's closet to sneak a kiss or two at work, or take her hand under the table at staff meetings only to have her glare at him with a dangerous if amused look.

She never did free her hand though.

The world will never know, the Olivia that he held and comforted at nights when her body shook and trembled with disappointment at having failed to stop whatever latest calamity had plagued their world, the one who tried so very hard to quell the pain of living with the choice she'd made, who struggled with a longing that tore at her soul when she looked at the faces of happy children and tried not to feel the incompleteness of their own family.

The one who leaned into him on quite afternoons when they sat on the couch together, while he read to her aloud from books she liked, or when they talked about everything anf nothing.

Those were the things about Olivia that counted the most, that she wanted most. Peace, a little bit of happiness, an attempt at normal, things he could never tell this world.

_"You've grown old." She'd whispered to him that night, the night before she died, hands carding through his hair, observing the strands of grey that appeared more prominently around the edges of his hairline than they did a few years ago, regarding him with a careful expression, as if seeing for the first time the mark the passing years had left on him._

_"We both have." He'd said, rubbing her nose with his in an Eskimo kiss, as he simply pulled her closer, bodies twisted in comfortable linen sheets, worn thin over years of use and washing, the weight of her body against his so familiar to him that he'd forgotten almost what it was like to not share a bed with her._

_ "Isn't it the best?" He'd grinned, happy and a little drunk from the two glasses of wine they'd had with dinner. _

_She'd chuckled in amusement, eyes tired, patient, wiser than before, a content smile playing on her lips. _

_"It really is, isn't it?" _

Her name was Olivia and she loved him.

That was always her story; the rest is for the world.


	67. Chapter 67

"Do you think daddy will like this one?" Olivia asks bending down to show Etta the wine colored sweater she was holding.

"It's so soft mommy." Etta says approvingly as she fingers the cashmere fabric of the garment.

"Isn't it?" Olivia rubs the sleeve against Etta's cheek, making her giggle. "What do you think? Should we get it?"

Etta nods enthusiastically. She then tugs at Olivia's shirt. "I wanna get daddy a birthday present too."

"Of course sweetheart. This will be from both of us." Olivia ruffles her hair, thinking how well the sweater would complement the extremely expensive limited edition watch she had custom ordered for Peter for his birthday.

"No, I wanna get my own present." Etta says emphatically, shaking her head.

"Your own present huh?" Olivia laughs and then looks at her daughter who's now reaching into her dress pocket and pulling out a fistful of coins and crumpled notes.

"Look mommy I bought all my money." She says. "Do you think I'll be able to buy daddy something nice with it?"

Olivia simply stares at the motley collection of pennies and nickels and three wrinkled dollar bills that Etta was holding in her outstretched palm with pride and hope. Her breath hitches in her throat for a second and she finds herself blinking away the unexpected moisture pricking at her eyes for some strange reason.

_Get a grip. _ She tells herself sternly, wondering how it was that little things like this made her want to cry when she'd seen and handled worse without even flinching.

"Wow that's a lot of money you've got there. Certainly more than enough for a great present." She nods with a smile, taking it from her hand. "But you have to be careful with it you know. It could fall out of your pocket. Here I'll keep it in my purse for you, and then you can pick out your present for daddy. Okay?"

They spend an hour walking around the mall, going into one shop and then another until Etta finally decides she has the perfect present for Peter.

"Do you think daddy will like it?" She asks Olivia anxiously, clutching the snow globe tightly in one hand as they wait in line at the billing counter.

"I am sure he'll love it sweetheart." Olivia tells her reassuringly.

"And you're sure I have enough money to buy it?" She says chewing her lower lip apprehensively.

"Let's see shall we." Olivia tells her, as she pulls out the money she had taken from her daughter earlier, surreptitiously slipping in a twenty dollar bill of her own from her purse. She pretends to count the change out and then nods.

"As it turns out, you have just the right amount of money."

Etta smiles so wide, it almost splits her face.

Late at night, Olivia sneaks down the stairs into the living room to arrange the presents they had bought on the table to be opened in the morning. She looks at the elegantly wrapped gift box that contained the watch and imagines the surprised look on Peter's face when he opens it. She knows how much he'd been coveting that particular watch, given how many times he's stopped by the store's display window in the past three months to look at it.

Her eyes then drift towards the snow globe Etta had insisted on wrapping herself, a smile inevitably forming on her lips as she takes in the haphazardly wrapped package, liberally embellished with glitter and marker colors, with the beginnings of what looked like daddy spelt out before it veered off into something illegible.

She then picks up her own box and puts it under the table, out of sight, leaving just the sweater next to the snow globe.

* * *

"This is the best present anyone has ever gotten me." Peter says to Etta after he unwraps the snow globe. They're all still in pajamas, owing to the fact that Etta started knocking on their bedroom promptly at sunrise wanting to give him her present.

"Seriously, how did you know I wanted this more than anything for my birthday?" He says looking at her with an impressed curiosity.

Etta simply giggles in delight, sitting on his lap. She then hands him the other gift wrapped box sitting on the coffee table. "Open this daddy. It's Mommy's. I helped pick it out for you." She says proudly.

Peter shares a smile with Olivia as she walks over from the kitchen with a coffee mug in her hand and sits on the couch beside him. He takes the sweater out of the gift box and grins. "It's lovely. Thanks Liv." He gives her a quick kiss on her forehead.

"You're welcome." She says simply.

"Which one do you like more daddy?" Etta asks then, looking at him with slight curiosity.

Peter looks in that instant like a deer caught in front of headlights. "Oh wow… that's tough. They're both such great presents and you know…"

"Of course he likes yours more sweetheart." Olivia cuts him off, her head resting on his chest. She looks up at him with a meaningful glance. "Don't you Peter?"

"Yeah. Of course I do." He nods meeting her eyes.

Etta literally beams with pride at that and then looks at him curiously. "How old are you now daddy?"

He laughs at that. "I don't know. How old are you going to be this year?" He asks her.

She pauses for a couple of seconds to do the math in her head, before she nods decisively. "Four."

"Really. Me too." He nods winking at Olivia who thwacks him lightly on the chest with a disapproving look.

Etta looks at him like he's lost his head and then shakes her head. "You're silly daddy." She giggles then. "I made a card for you. Do you want to see it?"

"I get a card too..." Peter exclaims with astonishment, sharing an exaggerated grin with Olivia. "This is just the best birthday of all times."

"It's in my room…I'll go bring it." She clambers off of his lap and skips off.

"So, how do you feel?" Olivia asks quietly, as she takes a sip from her mug.

"Older than I was before…." Peter muses. "And sleepy, so sleepy..." He stifles a yawn. "You know what would have been a great present? A couple more hours of sleep."

"We could have both used that." Olivia nods, closing her eyes for a brief second. "I tried to talk Etta into holding onto to the presents for later in the evening when Astrid and Walter are here…but she was too excited."

"It's fine." He shrugs, shaking the snow globe in his hand, smiling when the flakes came raining down on the Boston skyline. "I really do love the sweater by the way" He says then looking slightly chagrined, at his perceived lack of enthusiasm for her gift. "It looks great." He says appreciatively, as he runs his hands over the wool of the sweater in his lap.

"Well it's no slow globe. But I try." She shrugs, with a smile as he puts his arm around her and pulls her close. She gives him a peck on the lips. "And I know how much you hate the cold. This'll keep you warm and you can think about me when you're wearing it." She whispers against his lips with a conspiring wink.

"Thinking about you usually results in less clothing and not more." He says with a teasing grin. "And I recall a certain someone promising me an early morning birthday surprise."

"Well, someone would have lived up to their promise if it wasn't for your daughter banging on our door a 5:47 in the morning." She points out, pulling him down for a slower, more languid kiss.

"Why did we decide to have a kid again?" He murmurs against her lips.

"We didn't." She tells him, gasping a little, as he moves his lips down to her throat. "She just happened…. like most other things in our life."

"Best thing to have just happened." He grins then, his eyes drifting at the snow globe on the couch next to him.

"Definitely." Olivia laughs and reluctantly pushes him away a little, forcing a little distance between them. "Don't start something you can't finish Bishop." She tells him with a somewhat apologetic look as Etta's loud and enthusiastic voice filters down as she rushes down the stairs.

"Oh I most definitely intend to finish this." He tells her with a dangerous smile on his face. "After we're all done eating Walter's custard and Etta's in bed, I get my real present. Deal?"

Olivia's eyes wander under the table where she had stashed away her present which she had spent weeks planning for and she simply grins.

"Deal." She plants a soft kiss on his cheek.

"Happy birthday." She whispers before leaning back and then letting Etta command his attentions with the card she had made.


	68. Chapter 68

_Red line to South Station, change for bus to World Trade Centre, _he obsessively runs over in his head the directions Astrid had written down for him and tucked into three different pockets of his coat, trying to quell the panic at the thought of forgetting, fingers nervously thumbing the ticket stubs in his hand.

"I love trains, don't you grandpa?" Etta says excitedly sitting next to him on the subway, her eyes glued to the window as the tram crosses the Charles River making it way from Cambridge into downtown Boston and moves underground.

"It's the best way to go everywhere." She says with a decisive nod, in all her three year old wisdom.

"I quite agree my dear." He smiles at her, clutching her hand tightly, even though he knew she was sensible enough to not run off on him.

He can't think of a worse fate than to have to tell his son and daughter in law that their only child had gotten lost.

He knows how difficult it must have been for Peter to trust him to take Etta out on his own, prone as he was to getting lost himself without supervision, let alone care for a small child adequately. He's gotten much better over the past four years but he still doesn't trust his mind to not wander and drift away.

He'd been afraid to even ask, fully expecting Peter to say no, but his son had surprisingly not objected even once. It's an immense leap of faith, one that Walter knows he probably doesn't deserve (that's why he has Astrid clip a GPS tag to his watch, because it's a chance he just can't afford to take), but he is glad for it all the same. He wants this day with his granddaughter, to have her all to himself and create a memory that she'll hopefully remember when she's older.

On his last day here in this time, he'll take comfort in the company of the child who has brought more joy in his life than he ever thought was possible, who reminds him what is to be innocent and young again, who only sees the good in him and doesn't judge him for all the harm he has caused in the past.

He's hoping time with her will give him the courage he desperately needs, to remind him of why he needs to do this.

He's been afraid for months now, scared of what's to come and there are more than a few times when he's thought about backing out, to find another way, to find any other way that didn't necessitate him being separated from his family and his son, whom he loved more than any rational limit should allow for.

But every time his resolve weakens, he thinks about the little girl sitting next to him, holding his hand, without a care in the world, not even slightly worried about the fact that she was in the care of someone who couldn't be trusted to remember his last meal. The child who looks at him and doesn't see a barely functional human being, a genius gone mad or the tragic old man that most of the world perceives him to be but her grandfather who she believes firmly to be the 'smartest person in the whole world', who shares his love for strawberry milk shakes and comes to him with all her questions.

She looks at him with eyes that he'd seen in his own boy. The boy who died in his arms on that winter night so long ago. With an unwavering trust and unconditional love.

_He knew he was loved. Didn't he?_

Etta will never have to wonder, Walter thinks. Never once…

There will never be any doubt in her mind about how much she is loved by her father.

It's the difference between him and Peter, that vital difference he is all too glad for. Where he had only been consumed with the desire to walk among the gods, disregarding his wife and his ailing son for the pursuit of ambition and fame till it was too late, Peter had always put family first.

Olivia like Elizabeth has never known neglect; always, always been sure of Peter's love for her, like it were a law unto itself, even when it threatened to overwrite her entire existence.

Walter doubts even then….if she ever had to question what she meant to him.

Because Peter made sure she always knew she came first. He understood the gift that family was, cherished the people in his life the way they deserved to be cherished.

He remembers the expression on Peter's face the day Etta was born, the sheer unadulterated happiness that had radiated off of him in waves, the contentment in Olivia's eyes, her smile unburdened for once of the ghosts of her past.

To think of something that could come in the way of that happiness…

He's reminded then… of the cost of not being brave and the decision becomes absurdly simple in his mind.

It's no longer about redemption… his motives at heart have always been selfish, driven by the thought of those whom he loved the most.

The fate of humanity comes second at best.

It pains him of course to leave them behind, to not be witness to the rest of their lives' journey, to think he won't be there to welcome his second grandchild into his world, the one he's been urging Peter and Olivia to get started on for the past year, or to never be there to see Etta grow up and become the remarkable young woman that she's sure to be. The way she'll embody Peter's resourcefulness and Olivia's quiet determination and still retain her own individuality

But he also knows, he has to give her the best chance, even if he's never there to see it. For Peter, who made him whole again and for Olivia, who trusted him when he wouldn't have trusted himself, and gave him a new lease of life.

It's the least he can do for them, for his children, for his son who cheated fate to come back to him and for the woman who was a daughter to him in everything but blood.

If his actions can ensure that they never have to know the pain of losing a child or each other, loneliness is a price he's more than willing to pay.

"Where are we going grandpa?" Etta asks then, rescuing him from his thoughts. He looks at her curious blue eyes, reminded of a time before Peter had taken ill, when he had impulsively taken the day off and taken his wife and son to the pier and watched him smile and laugh, his then lighter hair gleaming in the summer sun.

The boy whose grave lay next to his mother's at Reiden Lake, where he had knelt and wept just yesterday.

If heaven did exist, maybe he would find them both there someday, Walter thinks.

"It's a surprise." He tells Etta then, patting the hand he's holding.

He wonders if she'll like the carousel as much as Peter did.


	69. Chapter 69

"You're really not making any of this up are you?" Etta asks slowly, her eyes flitting between her parents' anxious glances. "This isn't like some prank you're trying to pull on me." She looks then mainly in the direction of her father with suspicion.

Leave it to him to create some elaborate hoax about parallel universes and alternate timelines and ancient machines sent from the future that created inter-dimensional bridges just to mess with her.

She wouldn't put it past him.

But he simply nods, mustering a smile, one too weak to be anything but rather forced. "It would have been a very funny one if it were a prank, but no. It's all true. Every word."

Olivia sits next to her and squeezes her hand gently. "Etta, we felt you needed to know so we told you, but it doesn't have to be a big deal. Not if you don't want it to be."

She nods, still too shocked, too skeptical, too everything… to respond. "Not a big deal…" She almost wants to laugh at her mother's words.

She'd think, one half of her parental unit hailing from another universe was a pretty big deal by any standard.

"Do you have any questions? Anything you want to ask us honey?" Olivia reaches to brush a lock of her hair to the side, her hand falling midway as Etta flinches away from her touch.

"I have to go." She stands up abruptly, not able to meet either of them in the eye. "I have loads of homework."

She literally flees up the stairs as fast as her legs will take her before locking herself up in the room, ignoring her mother calling after her.

"It was the right thing to do." Peter says, taking the now empty seat next to Olivia. "It's what we decided."

"It's too big a burden for a child to bear." Olivia shakes her head, still looking at the staircase with a lost expression. "She shouldn't have to deal with such knowledge, not at her age."

"She's not so much a child anymore. She's old enough to understand Olivia and you know we had to tell her sooner or later."

"Did you see the way she looked at us? Like we were some kind of freaks..."

He can see it then in her eyes, the fear of rejection, the fear of being thought of less than….

"Liv… she doesn't think that. You know she doesn't."

"What if she can't deal with this? With us and… Peter what if..."

"It's going to be fine." He tells her reassuringly. "She'll need time and we need to allow her that."

Olivia nods in a somewhat convinced way.

"Come here…" He pulls her into his arms, kissing her forehead.

"It's going to be fine." He tells her again. "She'll understand, you'll see…"

* * *

That night Etta stays awake for the longest time, trying to wrap her head around everything her parents had told her. Trying to make sense of the frankly insane story they had told her just a few hours ago with the same seriousness her mother had shown when she had given her the super awkward sex talk.

But all it serves to do is give her a headache. She huffs and gets out of her bed, making her way in the dark downstairs to her father's study in the basement where he kept his large and ever growing collection of books and skims through the numerous stacks. She knows his organizational system fairly well and locates soon enough what she's looking for.

_The Physical Principles of the Quantum Theory. _ Etta looks at the cover.

She takes a deep breath and starts reading.

She wakes up the next morning on the living room couch, with an awful kink in her neck, and a blanket covering her that she didn't remember having on when she fell asleep. She squints as the sunlight pours in from the window, rubbing her eyes with the back of her hand groggily.

"Morning." She hears her father's voice from the kitchen as he walks in with two mugs of coffee.

"I knocked on your door earlier and your bed was made. I was worried for a moment that you'd run away till I came downstairs and found you asleep on the couch."

"Why would I make the bed before I ran away?" She says stifling a yawn, taking the mug he was holding out for her.

"Good point." His eyes then drift towards the book that had fallen out of her lap and gives her a smile. "That's some pretty dense late night reading. Walter would be proud."

"I was just trying to understand better…" She shrugs in explanation.

"And you went to Heisenberg over me; I am almost a little insulted." He says with a mock expression of indignation, getting her to smile, despite how weird everything was. "I know you're a very smart girl, but you might want to start with something a little more basic and then work your way up."

"Is this why you got me that book about the Uncertainty principle last month." She asks narrowing her eyes at him when she remembers something. " To prepare me for the classified debriefing you guys gave me yesterday."

He laughs. "No, that I got you to supplement that dreadfully dumbed down stuff your teacher passes of as AP Physics."

"Dad… what have I told you about implying that my teachers are incompetent and stupid."

"Don't do it their face."

"Don't do it all. It's not very nice." She says pointedly. "And my Physics teacher isn't that bad."

"Then how come she acts like a twelve year old every time I see her at the PTA meeting?"

"It's because she has a crush on you dad." She explains patiently.

"Not this again?" Peter sighs. "Seriously? First your guidance counselor and now her. This is like the fifth time this has happened. At this rate, I am going to have to be stop being involved in your education altogether."

"Yeah. Women find you attractive. What a burden that must be for you?" Etta says rolling her eyes.

He simply laughs at that and takes a seat beside her on the couch. "So did you… understand better?" He asks her then.

"Most of it." She nods, not meeting his gaze. "Where's mom?"

"Still sleeping." He sighs. "She was up all night too, worrying for your sanity and well being and the chances of you having a nervous breakdown."

"I am not going to have a nervous breakdown." She says blandly.

"That's exactly what I told her too."

She looks at him then, nodding slowly. "So you're really from an alternate universe?" She says then, unable to believe the words coming out of her mouth.

"Yeah, yeah I guess I am."

"What's it like?" She asks suddenly curious to know.

"A lot like this one and nothing like it." He smiles as the memory hits him. "Its… different from here."

"And there's really another version of mom over there?"

"Yeah."

"What's she like?"

"Nothing like your mom." He shakes his head, trying not to let Etta know what he was thinking. There were things they hadn't told her. Things Peter didn't want her to know.

"Is there another me?" She asks then and she thinks she sees something flash through his eyes that she's never seen before.

"No… no there's just you." He gives her a smile.

"You're special that way."

"Special… like some interdimensional freak of nature. Lucky me." Etta shrugs, rolling her eyes.

"You're not a freak. Don't ever talk about yourself like that again." He says firmly, his hand coming to rest on her cheek. "You are the outcome of a choice made by two individuals … like almost everybody else is on this planet and probably on every other one like it."

"It's not the same thing dad." Etta shakes her head.

"No it's not. Because we've been to hell and back to have you and give you this life." He nods. "That's what makes it different and _that's_ what makes you truly special."

She gives him a smile, regarding the intense expression on his face, understanding the gravity of what he was telling her, before sighing in frustration.

"I am trying to be okay with all of it. I really am. But it not easy you know."

"Of course it's not easy and nobody says you have to be okay with it right away. But if it helps, you're already handling it much better than I did." He tells her.

"Why what did you do?"

" A ton of really stupid things. Things I am not proud of." He chuckles. "But fortunately, you're like your mother. She has crazy coping skills. I swear, nothing fazes her."

"I could use some of that right about now." Etta laughs. "Or maybe a manual of some sort that tells me how I am supposed to respond to this."

"You mean like a self-help what to do when you're parents are from different universes and how you can be your own light warrior or something?" He laughs, taking a sip of coffee. "I am afraid I'd have to be the one to write it. It's in the works, right after I finish up my so you got zapped out of the face of the earth and the woman you love forgot you ever existed and it hurts like a bitch."

"How do you do it dad?" Etta shakes her head, looking at him with an incredulous expression. "Laugh about it."

"Well… because it's funny." Peter shrugs.

"Is it really?" She smirks humorlessly. "If I woke up one day and found that you and mom didn't remember who I was or anything from our life, and all traces of me had vanished, I think it would destroy me, not give me a case of the giggles."

"I think it would destroy me first." Peter says, putting his arm around her. "I know it's not funny to think about it and believe me it's not nowhere in the region of hilarious when it's happening to you. But…you have to realize, we've been doing this for a really really long time and I've learnt that you can't function without an incontrovertible sense of humor about these things. The alternative is to simply wallow in misery and keep worrying if you're going clinically insane."

Etta nods, resting her head against his shoulder "It's scary to think I could lose you like that."

"I know." He kisses her forehead. "But your mom's pretty good at finding me when I get lost. She's got years of practice. So you don't have to worry so much about that. This is not your burden to bear Etta. It's ours. Do you hear me?"

Etta doesn't say anything; she can't bring herself to respond. So she closes her eyes, wishing everything were normal again.

She desperately wants to feel normal again.

* * *

Music soothes her in a way that few things can. She loves getting lost in the notes and the sounds, surrendering all her senses to the sensation.

But today, Etta is unable to find the solace she usually finds in it. She stares at the sheets in front of her and plays flawlessly, her hand moving across the violin mechanically as she practices with the rest of her class. But she's unable to put her heart into it, her mind a million miles away, focused on other things.

For a whole week now, she has been avoiding her parents, unable to look them in the eye and not be plagued with a thousand different questions.

If they could have kept something like this from her, what else were they lying to her about?

They still hadn't told her everything, only that which they thought she needed to know. It made her suspicious of everything she knew, everything she thought she knew.

Could she even trust them anymore, knowing there were things they would always keep from her, knowing only a piece of the truth they had shared with her.

She keeps thinking about it, as she plays, remembering uncannily in the moment her first piano lesson she'd had with her father, how she would sit on his lap when she was little, watching him as he played, observing the way his hands moved across the keys.

To her young mind, he had been no less than a magician who seemed to create music out of thin air.

_"Teach me too daddy. I want to be able to play like you."_ She'd begged him with all her four year old earnestness.

Her dad had been so patient with her, devising little games to keep her interested, breaking down things to make them simple enough for her to understand, never losing his calm once, even after her unforgiving and enthusiastic banging had messed up all the keys one time and had put their instrument out of commission, necessitating a whole lot of expensive repairs.

After she started taking lessons from a professional teacher, he would practice with her whenever he could find the time, encouraging her talent in every way, sparing no expense as far as her musical education went. Even the violin she was holding had been a present from him for her fifteenth birthday. A beautiful, extremely expensive antique instrument he had ordered all the way from Salzburg.

Those were the kind of people her parents were, supportive, loving…. indulgent even, especially her father who could never bring himself to deny her anything. They weren't the kind of people who kept secrets from her, except those which were required by the nature of their jobs, things which she had never given much thought because she thought they didn't concern her.

Etta had always known instinctively that her parents were not like everybody else's. They never really fit the average suburban couple profile. Perhaps it was their line of work. Perhaps it was just them but they moved with too much force, with a battle readiness… with a swagger that set them apart from anybody else she knew, almost as if they had a singular purpose in life that no one else did.

She had always loved that about them. As a child she had idolized them, thought they were no less than superheroes.

Little did she know, her mom and dad were _effing_ superheroes…

But this was beyond anything she could have ever imagined. To think they could have this kind of darkness in their past… be the people who saved worlds from the brink of destruction not once but twice, risking life and everything else to do so, jump through worlds and have telekinetic powers and control powerful wave sync machines to create a bridge between parallel universes…

It makes her want to start screaming and never stop, to hide under the covers and shut her eyes tight.

Mostly it makes her scared… terrified of losing them.

* * *

She walks home slowly that evening after practice, skipping the carpool, disregarding the biting cold, going over things again and again in her head, not even realizing when she reaches home. She walks in through the front door to the sounds of her parents in the middle of their usual banter.

Despite everything it makes her smile. At least some things hadn't changed. As she gets outs of her coat and gets rid of her winter things, she hears her father's voice.

"Now help me out here, is it going to be _The Shining_ or _Shaun of the Dead_?"

"How about neither?"

"You don't get to decide that. It's my turn to pick the movie. "

"Peter, we've watched both of those ten times at least."

"And now we'll watch it for an eleventh time."

"Sound like a waste of a Friday night. Give me the remote. We're watching something else."

"No…no, we're not. The rules clearly state that it's my turn.

"What rules?"

Etta smiles making her way to the living room. She stays outs of sight, simply watching the two of them bicker about some thing so trivial.

It almost makes her forget...

"The rules that we established seventeen years ago about taking turns every week to pick a movie for Friday night, not to be changed under any and all circumstances. Those rules are the bedrock of our marriage."

"The bedrock of our marriage is a silly agreement we made on our second date after two glasses of wine?"

"That silly agreement is the thread that holds this relationship together." Her father's saying with a completely serious expression. "Mess with that and everything unravels and falls apart."

"I'll risk it." She says dryly. "Give me the remote."

"No."

"Peter… give me the remote."

"No."

Olivia makes a grab for the remote that Peter holds out of her reach, causing her to straddle his lap. She frowns at him and makes another grab for it, and ends up being flipped over, pinned to the couch on her back.

"You can't get your way all the time sweetheart." He says with a dangerous smile.

"You do realize I can take you down in under ten seconds?" Olivia gives him a mildly condescending look.

"I'd like to see you try." He holds her arms together in one hand. "But as much fun as that would be. There are other ways I can be persuaded to let you pick the movie." He lets go abruptly to capture her lips in a languid kiss

"What happened to the rules being the bedrock of our marriage?" Olivia asks when they break apart.

" Oh I think you and I both know what the real bedrock of our marriage is." He grins, pulling her lips into a kiss again.

Olivia giggles and puts her arms around his neck pulling him towards her, as he deepens the kiss. She freezes however when she hears the sound of someone clearing their throat.

She exchanges a significant look with Peter and looks over the couch to find Etta standing there by the doorway, with a barely tolerant smile on her face.

"Why do you guys always have to be making out when I walk into a room?" She sighs.

"Why do you have to walk into rooms when we're making out?" Peter retorts, offering a completely guiltless smile, as he extricates himself quickly from Olivia's embrace and puts some distance between them.

"Clever." Etta says dryly, looking at them both.

"We were just trying to pick a movie to watch." Olivia manages to explain with an even expression.

"Really, is that what they call it nowadays?" She smirks, shaking her head at the both of them

"You're late." Olivia says quickly, changing the subject. "Rehearsal run long?"

"We were having trouble with one of the pieces and it took us a while to get it right. We've only got a week before the concert, so have to iron out the kinks before that." Etta says.

"That's great. I am sure you'll be wonderful." Her mom says confidently. "We're really looking forward to hearing you play."

"Will you guys be able to make it?" Etta asks then, trying not to sound too hopeful. She knows her parents don't mean to be absent for the important things in her life and despite how insanely busy their lives get, they've always found the time to come to almost every school game and play and recital and science fair. But she also knows there are times when they miss out and yes it's disappointing but she never lets them know. Because her mother's unshakable sense of guilt over these matters is enough on its own without her trying to make her feel worse.

"We wouldn't miss it." Her father tells her. "Dinner should be here in a few minutes. We ordered for you. Hope that's okay."

"Did you get me..."

"The baked ziti." Peter finishes for her. "Yeah we did… and yes we also asked for a separate order of bread sticks, and yes you can have all of them including the ones that come with our orders." He says knowingly.

"Do you want to watch the movie with us honey?" Her mom asks then, smiling at her with a hopeful expression but just so, almost like she's expecting to be turned down, for her to go run and hide into her room like she'd been doing every day for the past week.

And suddenly it occurs to Etta how much it's hurting her mother, this distance she's been keeping from her while she came to terms with what she knows now.

She was being stupid. These were her parents and nothing they had told her about anything changed the fact that they loved her and she loved them.

It didn't change the fact that they were a family. It didn't change the fact that for fifteen years, despite the strange and absurd experiences of their lives, they'd worked so hard to give her a life that was perfect on every account.

That they had made her felt absolutely adored and loved…

"Yeah… yeah, I think I will." She gives her mom a hesitant smile, not missing the elated if slightly surprised reaction she gets, setting her violin case down by the stairs and moves to sit beside her.

"Did you walk home?" Olivia asks then looking at her with a frown, as she takes in her windswept face and pale cold skin.

She shrugs, tensing a little under her mother's stern gaze. It always unnerved her despite how old she had gotten. "I felt like the exercise."

"What is the matter with you? It's 15 degrees outside." She shakes her head in disapproval as she takes Etta's icy hands in hers, rubbing them together. "Look at you, you're freezing. Why didn't you call us to come pick you up?"

"Mom I am okay." She tells her reassuringly, looking at the undisguised concern in her eyes, wondering in that moment how someone who had achieved all those superhuman feats could get worked up over something like wind chill.

It makes her insides hurt in the worst way possible.

Olivia nods, bringing her hands to her lips, looking only half convinced. "Next time you feel like exercise in the middle of January, use the treadmill alright? I'd rather have you be a couch potato than catch pneumonia. "

"You got it." She says with a smile and then looks away unable to bear anymore, the lines of worry in her eyes, turning to her father instead. "Are you making us watch _The Shining_ again dad?" Etta sighs, looking at the titles on the screen.

"Well not if you don't want to. Here, you can pick whatever you want and we'll watch that." Peter hands her the remote and sits down next to Olivia.

"Oh, you gave up your turn for her and not me." Her mom looks at him with outrage.

"Yeah, well she and I share DNA. She basically gets dibs for life." He smirks at her, winking at Etta.

"Is that how it is?" Olivia looks at him disdainfully.

"That is exactly how it is. Don't worry though, I still love you." He pats her shoulder with the arm he has around her. "As long you don't lose your looks."

"You're despicable." She chuckles, leaning into him. The doorbell rings just before he's about to retort.

"Great. Looks like food's here. I'll just go take care of that. You're welcome." Peter says getting up to answer the door.

Olivia simply shakes her head, laughing to herself before looking at Etta expectantly. "So what are we watching?" She waits for a couple of seconds for a response from her daughter who was staring ardently at the remote in her hands, before she looks up at her, obviously trying hard to fight tears.

"Etta…" Her voice becomes immediately concerned and before she can say anything else, she's thrown herself into Olivia's arms, holding her so tightly, that for a second she gasps with surprise, before automatically returning the embrace, bringing her one hand to stroke her daughter's hair.

"What's wrong baby?" She asks gently, feeling slightly alarmed at the wetness she can feel against her neck.

Her daughter never cried. Not for anything.

"I am sorry momma." Her voice is muffled against Olivia's shirt and she's clinging tighter than before, if it were even possible.

"What for?" Olivia asks, trying hard to not panic. "Etta did something happen? Something at school…" She gently tries to push her away so she can see her face, but Etta simply shakes her head, refusing to let go.

"Baby you're scaring me…please." Etta hears her mother say, her voice merely above a whisper, almost desperate. "Tell me what's wrong? I promise I'll take care of it."

She reluctantly lets go then, realizing she was only adding to her mother's worries, but only so, moving to rest her head against Olivia's chest, like she would do when she was a little girl.

"I am sorry I've been so awful about this whole thing." She swallows, shaking her head, feeling so ashamed of herself for having those doubts, for thinking so uncharitably about her parents.

"About the way I've been acting….since you guys told me."

"Is that what this is about?" Olivia takes a huge breath of relief, pulling her closer. "Oh god, you had me so worried for a second there. Look at me." She tilts her face to meet her gaze squarely, thrown off by the obvious distress in her daughter's eyes. She brings her hand up to thumb away the wetness on her face.

"You don't have to apologize for anything okay." She tells her then. "This is not your fault. None of it is. I know you didn't ask for any of this, and I wish I could have spared you the truth. I really wish…"

"No… no I am glad you told me." Etta shakes her head, having regained her composure slightly, squeezing her hand. "I know it can't be easy, living with a secret like this… and I am sorry that you had to go through all of that…all that pain. I am so sorry mom."

"I am not." Olivia shakes her head with a sad smile on her face. "I have absolutely no regrets about anything."

" How can you say that?" Etta asks incredulously.

"Because sweetheart... every step has led me towards you, towards your father, towards all of this and I wouldn't change that for anything." She says firmly. " You have no idea what that means to me... what you mean to me."

"That makes two of us." She laughs, curling up against her mother, feeling that enormous weight float off of her chest that she's been struggling with all week. Her hands find the remote again as she surfs through the titles on their instant streaming program, the comforting smells of Italian takeout wafting in from the hallway, as she can hear her dad thanking the delivery guy.

She wouldn't change this for anything. No matter how many skeletons came tumbling out of the closet.

"So tell me something?" Etta says to her mother, then as a thought suddenly occurs to her, her hand pausing on _Casablanca_ on the screen.

"Yeah."

"If you're both from different universes, where does that put me technically?" She asks looking up at her mother curiously. "Where do I belong?"

Her mother simply stares at her for a second before bursting into quiet laughter.

"What? What's so funny?"

"Déjà vu." Olivia shrugs; her eyes still alight with amusement, caught in some distant memory. "Your father will tell you that home is where the heart is."

"Is that what you think?"

"I think…" She says, kissing her on the forehead.

"You belong with us."


	70. Chapter 70

"So I know we've been sort of going around this for some time now…" He presses a kiss to her shoulder blade.

"Yeah…"

"And I think maybe we should make a decision you know… one way or the other." He says cautiously.

"You think?" She asks.

It's the same conversation they've had for over two years now. On and off, every few months.

It always starts the same way, usually with them already naked, bodies twisted into sheets of Egyptian cotton, still warm from the high they'd experienced a short while ago, when Peter looks at her with a hopeful smile and whispers into her ear the question he's asked a few times before.

And she'll laugh and nod and say maybe when they're not trying to keep the world from falling apart.

Except the world has been strangely intact… for five years now, and maybe her excuse has lost traction somewhere down the line.

And maybe he knows that at this point she's simply stalling…

"Yeah…" He nods, fingers finding her hair. "And this is in no way meant to pressure you but the fact remains that we're not getting any younger Liv."

"No, no we're not." She agrees. They're closer to 40 now than they are to 30. It's crucial this little fact. This whole business takes energy and she finds, despite her rather impressive endurance skills, that she's not quite as capable anymore of bouncing back after an endless exhausting day as she used to be.

"It would be a good time, if we do decide we want to do this …our finances are stable, and we're more than prepared to absorb the changes, and you know it's always a good idea to not have too much an age gap between siblings." He presses on, giving her a small smile, one she can't help but return.

He's being pragmatic in the way she's come to expect of him, ever since they began this grand experiment of building a life together, giving her the logical break down of factors involved and she can't help but love him a little more than she does for doing this.

Even if he knows as well as she does, maybe better, that she rarely ever makes major life decisions on the basis of rational considerations. They wouldn't even be here if she had paid heed to them in the first place.

She nods then, hand reaching out to caress his jaw line, remembering another morning years ago, when she'd done the same thing, her eyes chancing upon the picture of him as a little boy.

She would love so much to hold a little boy like the one in that picture in her arms.

"Olivia…" He doesn't say any more but the question hangs in the air, and she knows the time for sitting on the fence is over at this point.

"You know I'd love to…" She says then. "You know that right?"

He nods, because he does know.

"But…" he fills in the silence for her, the tone of his voice knowing, patient.

She shrugs. It shouldn't be so hard, this decision. If anything, it should be a hell lot easier than the last time. After all, there's no apocalypse looming at the horizon this time, no perception altering drugs flowing in her blood, none of the uncertainties.

Doing this a second time around would be logical, expected and more than desired on all accounts.

"I don't think we should…." She shakes her head, intertwining his hand, cringing at the way his fall falls at her admission. She takes his hand and brings it to her lips and takes a deep breath.

If she decided to say no more than this, he wouldn't question her, she knows this. It's the remarkable thing about Peter. He doesn't ask for explanations till she's willing to provide them.

But she owes him one; she owes him more than that to be fair. After all, she has tacitly if not explicitly let him believe him the possibility was on the cards someday.

But how can she expect him to understand, when she doesn't herself?

"Well I guess we got that settled." He smiles at her, sincere if a little forced.

"Peter…"

"It's okay." He shakes his head. "This is your decision."

"I know you're disappointed..."

"I'll get over it." He shrugs, dropping a kiss on her forehead. "It's fine Olivia. It really is." He tells her firmly and she knows he means it. There is no resentment in anything about him. In the tone of his voice , or in the searching look in his eyes, patient and understanding as ever, as he puts his arms around her and they settle into companionable silence.

She knows he'll never ask her to reconsider, never even bring it up again.

She also knows she'll have to… eventually.

* * *

"Go find your dad and tell him to come help me with the groceries." Olivia tells her daughter after she unbuckles her seatbelt and lets her out of the car.

"Daddy…." Etta immediately screams, running into the house, causing Olivia to sigh.

"Honey, what have I told you about shouting." She shakes her head, knowing well that Etta's already moved out of hearing range.

By the time she takes in a couple of bags into the kitchen, Etta is standing patiently by the counter, waiting for her.

"Daddy's not here." She shrugs. "I looked everywhere." She says emphatically, her eyes wide like saucers.

"Everywhere huh?" Olivia chuckles. "You think he got lost somewhere?"

"No…." Her daughter gasps. "He can't be lost. Can he mommy?" She asks then in a worried voice. "He's a grownup and grownups can't be lost."

"Sometimes they can." She laughs and then gives her somewhat worried looking daughter a reassuring smile. "Daddy's not lost though. He probably had to run out for something."

"Hey… I thought I heard voices…" Peter's voice is heard and soon enough she sees him making his way down the stairs.

"Daddy… you're not lost." Etta says with a clearly relieved expression as she runs to hug his leg.

"No, I am not lost." He says ruffling her hair, meeting Olivia's gaze confusedly then. "Was I supposed to be?"

"She couldn't find you anywhere in the house." Olivia explains with a smile, as she makes her way back to the car to get the remaining bags.

"That's because I was up in the attic." He says following her.

"In the attic, what were you doing up there?" She asks curiously as he helps her unload stuff from the back of the car.

"Oh it was nothing…" He shrugs, hefting numerous bags into his arms. "I was just trying to find Etta's old crib. I told Astrid she could have it for when the baby comes, it's not like we'll be needing it anymore. "

She stares for a second at him as he peers into the contents of the bags. "You got popsicles. Neat. You got me my own box though right, because I am not sharing with Etta again. She never lets me have any of the grape flavored ones and it's really not fair that I have to be stuck with all the mango ones just because she won't eat them… " He rambles on, making his way back into the house.

* * *

After dinner, she lets Peter tuck Etta in for bed and makes her way to the attic, to find the crib there along with a few boxes, meticulously labeled in Peter's tidy handwriting, stacked next to it.

These were all of Etta's old baby things they had stored away a long time ago.

She opens the one marked 'clothes', pulling out a white onesie, a smile inevitably forming on her lips as she fingers the soft flannel with the atom structure printed on it, reading the writing on the garment.

_Rings surround the rosy, _

_Electrons are supposy, _

_Dashes – Crashes_

_Wave function collapses_

It was a play on an old nursery rhyme that Peter had found online and insisted on getting for Etta, pointing out that it was never too early to start teaching her about quantum physics.

She brings it up to her nose to inhale the intoxicating newborn scent that lingered even after all these years, closing her eyes as she gets lost in the sensations, allowing them to transport her.

"We brought her home in that for the first time from the hospital." She isn't surprised when she hears his soft voice speak from behind her.

Olivia simply nods, holding the piece of clothing close to her chest. Peter walks up to her and puts an arm around her waist and she leans back.

"It's hard to believe she was once tiny enough to fit into this." She folds the garment with reverence and sets it back into the box.

"You were planning on giving away these too…" She asks then, her hands thumbing through the pile of clothes.

"I saw them when I was pulling out the crib and I thought maybe Astrid could use them." His hands joins her. "Baby stuff is expensive, if you remember."

"I remember." She nods, pulling out a fuzzy green beanie that was barely any bigger than Peter's hand. "I paid full price for this and she probably wore it once, before she outgrew it." She smiles, sharing a look with him.

"I was going to ask you of course." He says. "Before offering them to…"

"That's okay." She shakes her head. "You're right. They're just sitting here in the attic and this way they'll be useful to somebody."

_Even if it's not us._ She thinks but doesn't say. She doesn't have to.

After all he knows that the reason they even held onto all this stuff was because they had assumed by unspoken consensus that they would require use of it again someday.

"We could still hold onto a few things." She hears him says then. "As a keepsake."

She lets go from the loose embrace he has her in, moving closer to the crib, her hand finding the white wooden frame. She breathes deeply, before meeting his eyes.

"I think I owe you an explanation, about last week." She says then.

"Olivia you don't have to say anything. That's not what this is about. "

"I know…" She nods. He's not passive aggressive about things. If he was unhappy with her decision, he would have told her, plain and simple.

"But I still need to tell you this. Peter when I told you that I don't think we should have another baby…. what I meant to say was…. I don't think… we're supposed to."

He's staring at her then in confusion, predictable given what she just said doesn't make any sense really.

"What do you mean we're not supposed to?"

She sighs, sinking to the floor as she leans against the crib, her hands coming up to her lips in the way they often did when she was nervous.

"Do you remember…. how right after Walter went missing, Etta had those terrible nightmares for almost weeks." She asks then,

"Yeah… she kept dreaming about being lost." He nods, his jawline tightening noticeably at the mention of Walter. "Liv, What does that have to do with anything?"

"As it turns out, a lot." She shakes her head. "Oh God, Peter, you're going to think I am crazy…"

"I think there's no danger of that." He smirks then, walking over join her on the floor. "Try me."

She gives him a grateful smile and rests her head against his shoulder. "You were so upset at the time with him being gone and Etta was obviously in some kind of distress herself and I didn't want to add to your troubles, but I had those dreams too, about her being gone that day in the park, us not being able to find her..."

She takes his hand, squeezing tightly. "I never stopped getting them. They were so vivid and I remember waking up terrified that it was actually true and there were times…" Her breath hitches for a second as the memory assaults her.

"Olivia…"

"I would see her and she would be grownup and so beautiful, absolutely beautiful and so brave and I just knew it had to be her and she was dead Peter…. and there was blood coming out her chest and she died. She died and we couldn't save her and there was just so much blood and she didn't even cry." She gasps, forgetting herself or where she was, tears making their way down her cheeks.

"Liv… Liv…" He shakes her, eyes rife with concern, as he looks at the lost expression on her face. "It was just a bad dream." He's telling her.

"She died…" She repeats, looking at him with a distraught expression, the images playing in her mind over and over again.

"Olivia, listen to me." He says firmly, hands cupping her cheek. "You had a nightmare. That's all."

She shakes her head, leaning into his cheek as the tears run free of her own volition. "See that's the thing." She struggles to speak, unable to even meet his eye at this point. "I don't think they were just dreams. I think... somewhere, sometime we lost her, and Walter's disappearance had something to do with all of it."

She clutches at his shirt, her hand fisting into the fabric "I don't know how to explain it to you and you don't have to believe me. But I think… I know, we got a second chance. We already got our second chance Peter." She says then desperately, looking at him, begging him to understand.

That one doesn't ever simply get everything back, that they couldn't hope to emerge unscathed by what had happened or never was, even if she couldn't even remember, the certain fate they had escaped.

"I know you want another child and believe me there's nothing in the world that would make me happier than to make that true for us." She manages a watery smile. "I want it so much. I really do. But I am so scared."

"Scared of what?" He asks gently then, his eyes troubled, but calm.

"Of tempting fate." She shrugs, managing a small laugh even. "I know it sounds silly but I can't help the feeling that we almost lost everything once and to think about losing everything by wanting more, I don't think I could survive it."

He's silent for a few seconds, eyes lost in some serious contemplation, before he squeezes her hand.

"Why didn't you tell me… about the dreams?" He asks her then. "You really dreamt about…" he takes a sharp intake of breath. " You really dreamt about Etta being…"

She nods and sees his eyes close in pain, as if the thought of visualizing it alone was enough to make it hurt.

"I am sorry." She rests her head against his chest, allowing him to pull her closer. "I know my decision doesn't make any sense to you and frankly it doesn't make much sense to me. But I don't know why, but I know in my heart this is how it's supposed to be. This is what we're supposed to have."

He nods at that, looking at her with a soft smile. "Well, if this how it's supposed to be… I'd say we have it pretty darn perfect don't you?"

She smiles against him then, trying not to think about things that never were or things that never will be.

She had everything she wanted already.

"Plus, we're going to have an honorary niece or nephew soon enough." He's telling her. "We could just get all the baby fix we need and leave Astrid to deal with the other unsavory parenting stuff like diapers and waking up at 2 a.m."

'Not to mention pregnancy and nausea and hours of labor and oh god breastfeeding..." She shakes her head, moaning with the painful memories.

Peter chuckles. "Well I wouldn't know, but I'll take your word for it." He stands up and offers her his hand, pulling her up from the floor. "It's agreed then, no more baby making for us .We just keep the one we accidentally created and I get to spoil her as much as I want."

Olivia rolls her eyes as he leads her out of the attic. "You say that like you weren't doing that already. I swear, if she grows up to be a brat, you're taking the blame for that."

"See, and that's why I'll be the first name on her acceptance speech at the Nobel Prize awards ceremony." He retorts, making her shake her head in amusement.

"Oh she's winning the Nobel prize now? Last week it was just the MacArthur Genius grant."

"Well of course she's going to win both." He shrugs. "It's a natural sequence of events. I have it all planned out…"

Olivia looks back for a second from the doorway, as Peter's voice gets softer, taking in the crib and the boxes.

"Liv…" She can hear him calling out to her from the bottom of the stairs. "You coming?"

She turns off the light and shuts the door behind her, leaving behind a dream that wasn't meant to be, as she makes her way down the steps.

She still had the one that came true and that's all that mattered.


	71. Chapter 71

"Rings."

He raises an eyebrow at her as she slips off her band from her finger and holds out her outstretched palm indicating he should follow suit. Almost reluctantly, he takes off his own ring and places it next to hers.

She reaches then for the inside pocket of his tuxedo and slips them inside.

"Keep them safe. " She tells him with a wink, patting his chest through the fabric gently before walking away to the tech person waiting to fit her with a comm device.

He watches as she sweeps her hair to one side and allows the man to clip the bug fitted into an earring of some sort into her ear, telling her something about how to use it, while she nods and simultaneously hitches up her long black dress with its obscenely high slit and rather advantageous cleavage quotient, and lets another field agent strap a gun holster to her thigh, her leg hiked over a chair, every alabaster inch of it on display.

Even though she's turned away from him, she's smiling, he knows, probably aware of his eyes following her every move, along with several of the male officers in the command room they'd set up in the hotel suite. One of them, a fresh faced twenty something who had 'rookie' stamped all over him was practically salivating at the sight of her.

He supposes an average man would feel some sense of jealousy at having his wife put on show in this way. But there has never been a bone of possessiveness in his body and he really knows better than to start acting like some territorial chauvinistic jackass while on assignment, especially when they were about to go undercover and their ability to get through it unharmed depended on seamless coordination with the unit. Idiotic and petty as it would make him look; such behavior only serves to make Olivia the subject of ridicule and he can't have that.

If anything, he knows there is some envy being directed his way right about now. Because who is he kidding really, his wife is hot.

Like twelve on a scale of one to ten hot.

And stare as much as they might, he's the one who gets to go home with her when this is wrapped up and despite his intentions to be professional about this whole thing (and he usually is uncharacteristically straight laced in these situations, more out of deference for her position than out of any real heed to the chain of authority), he can't help the smirk that makes his way at the thought of that.

Granted, she'll probably have shed the femme fatale act by then, the stilettoes alone will have gone mere moments after she's in the car and the rest of it will follow swiftly, efficiently once they're back home and before long she'll be in her usual tank top and drawstring sweats, makeup wiped off, probably pacing around with their highly nocturnal eight month old daughter, trying to get her to go to sleep.

But she'll still look every bit a vision as she does now, of that he has no doubt.

As if on cue, in that eerie way she's always been able to intuit his head space, she turns to him slightly and gives him a knowing smile.

"You ready for this?" She asks him, walking up to him, reaching out a hand to straighten his bow tie.

"Are you kidding?" He takes her arm and leads them out the door.

"I've been waiting to do a Mr. and Mrs. Smith for five years now."

* * *

"You know if you wanted to be on top, all you needed to do was ask?" He says with a smirk, as she straddles him in one swift move, pinning him to the floor.

They're both slightly out of breath, and even as Olivia regards him with a triumphant smile, she applies more pressure on the hands she was squeezing pushing him against the floor, with more might than was strictly necessary.

Except it only makes him grin wider than before. "And forceful, I like a woman who's not afraid to unleash a little pain."

She shakes her head at him, part of her wanting to bend down and wipe that smirk of his with a resounding kiss.

But she doesn't think that would especially serve to validate her victory. And it wouldn't be prudent considering at this point that at least half a dozen pairs of eyes were watching them with a feigned indifference that was too deliberate to be casual.

She stands up in a brisk move, walking away; leaving him still sprawled on his back on the floor of the ring.

"Did anyone ever tell you, you're a sore loser?" She says coolly, taking a sip from her water bottle as she watches him slowly sit up and crick his neck in either direction. He's accentuating those actions, she knows, for dramatic effect, for the benefit of the audience they had gathered without intending to.

He enjoys it, she can tell.

It's been a while since they did this. Too long really.

But the adrenaline rush feels familiar, exhilarating as ever. The satisfaction of beating him a little too good than what would be considered a mature response from an adult.

She'd been the one to suggest they try combat training together, even before they had started dating. Given that they worked together on the field, she had thought it good for them to understand each other's moves and be able to coordinate better when a situation presented itself. Given that he was a civilian and that he was unarmed when they often found themselves in dangerous scenarios, she wanted to be sure of his ability to defend himself.

The fact it would be so much fun was not something either of them had counted on. Peter never pulled any punches and neither did she, which made it more than a fair fight. He was ruthlessly competitive, something she thoroughly enjoyed because it made her that much better at her game, to constantly strive to match her precision and skill to his more spontaneous but equally efficient strategies.

Except the one time he accidentally socked her, causing her lip to split open and then spent the whole week acting like he killed someone, swearing to every god and beyond never to touch her ever again, till she had to tell him to quit being stupid and dragged him back to the ring.

He's chuckling at her remark now, unwrapping the linen bandages around his knuckles, giving his wrists an experimental flex.

"Winning and losing is not a zero-sum game like you seem to think it is." He says up on his feet now, moving closer to take the bottle from her.

"What is that supposed to mean?" She looks at him, eyes narrowing in suspicion. "Don't tell me you…. did you start a betting pool again?"

He winks at her, still chugging down the water. "And what if I did?"

"This is the FBI training facility." She says sternly. "I thought we had this discussion."

"Tell that to your colleagues." He shrugs. "They're the ones who wanted in on the action. So much for defenders of the law. "

"Peter tell me you didn't…" She looks at him disapprovingly.

He raises a teasing eyebrow at her before breaking into a smile. "I didn't. I have too much of an ego to bet against myself and I know better than to bet against you. If there's any money changing hands today on our little duel, I had nothing to do with it."

"Why don't I trust you?" She says folding her arms at him.

"I don't know. Why don't you? Most people find me very trustworthy." He shrugs, pulling her hands into his own, as he unwraps her bandages for her, giving her knuckles a once over, feeling with his fingers for any injury. In one second he goes from being a competitive opponent to being the caring husband, making her smile despite everything.

"You concentrated too much pressure on your fists again." He frowns at the micro lesions that have broken out on her skin. "I thought _we_ had this discussion." He gives her the same discipline look she had given him earlier.

"I am fine." She shrugs. "It's just a few scratches. Wanna go again? Best out of three?" She asks, wiping the sweat of her brow as she reaches to tighten her ponytail. "You might even win for once."

"I've won plenty of times." He reminds her.

"In another timeline." She says, giving him a casual grin, lowering her voice by that many decibels. "They don't count if they never happened."

"That's a very selective way of looking at things. " He comments with a sardonic expression. "Does everything that never happened not count then? Because we might have to revisit our entire relationship going by that logic. "

She simply gives him a look at that. "Is that your way of backing out of a rematch?"

"Hardly." He chuckles. "As much fun as I'd have wiping that smile off of your face, we have to go pick up Etta, it's almost close to six."

She peers at the clock on the wall behind him, realizing only then how late it was getting.

"You can stay… if you're still itching for some action." He grins at her as he climbs out of the ring, grabbing his gym bag. "Find yourself some strapping young new cadet to be your sparring partner. He'll be so turned on at the thought of going up against you, you'll probably take him down in under ten seconds."

"Where's the fun in that now?" She laughs, grabbing her own bag and following him out of the ring. "At least it takes a whole minute with you."

"That' a hell lotta confidence Dunham." He turns around to face her. "I'll remember to throw that in your face, the next time I destroy you."

"Dream on." She nudges his shoulder, as they make their way out of the gym, towards their respective locker rooms, before he pulls her close and quickly looks around to make sure there was no one around and presses a fervent kiss to her lips.

"You have no idea…. the things I would like to do to you right about now." He whispers pulling away almost immediately.

"I have an inkling." She grins, pressing her forehead against his.

"You know, ever since high school, I've had the most ardent fantasy about sneaking into the women's locker room." He tells her then.

"Unfortunately some things are meant to stay a fantasy." She says meaningfully, pushing him away. "Remember Etta? She's waiting for us."

"Right." He sighs, nodding. "Meet you at the car in fifteen?"

Olivia nods and then gives him a slight grin. "You know later… in the night, I might be in need of a sparring partner again."

He keeps his expression impressively neutral as he looks at her. "Is that an offer for a rematch again, Agent Dunham?"

"Absolutely." She shakes her head, pulling him for a long kiss, before breaking away, leaving him breathless, like he'd been on the floor of the ring a few minutes ago.

"And this time we can both win."


	72. Chapter 72

"So?" Olivia asks, as she watches Peter study the thermometer with a grim expression.

"Yup…" He nods, giving her an apologetic smile. "Looks like you're calling in sick."

Olivia simply sighs, sinking against the pillows. "I hate this." She mutters, closing her eyes. She hated being sick, hated everything about it, having to sit around in bed with nothing to do and she absolutely hated feeling so useless and having to rely on someone else.

"I know." Peter drops a quick kiss on her forehead. "But it doesn't look too serious. Just a simple cold. Nothing a day or two of rest can't fix."

"I suppose." She grumbles, allowing him to adjust her pillows into a more comfortable position. "Do you promise not to hover and keep asking me if I need anything every five minutes?"

"Scouts honor." He grins. "Am I at least allowed to bring you a cup of tea?"

There's a knock on their half open door before Olivia can answer his question as Etta walks into their bedroom.

"Morning…" She says in a raspy voice, looking rather worse for the wear.

"Shouldn't you be ready for school?" Olivia asks, taking in the fact that she was still in plaid pajamas and a white t shirt. She then notes the wan expression on her face. "Honey… you don't look so good."

"I don't feel so good." She shakes her head with a frown, making her way to the empty side of the bed before crumpling into a limbless pile next to Olivia.

"What's wrong baby?" Olivia asks to which simply Etta burrows her head against her mother's lap with a discontented moan. She then pushes away the curtain of hair falling on Etta's face and feels her forehead.

"She's very warm." She says worriedly, meeting Peter's eyes, who immediately replaces her hand with his own, checking for a fever.

"My throat hurts." Etta's mumbles, pulling the blanket over her head, curling up further against Olivia's middle, like she would as a little girl, the fact that she was almost fifteen now, notwithstanding.

Peter sighs, giving her a pat. "Looks like you're staying home too kiddo. I'll call the school and then I'll call Broyles."

* * *

"This has got to be the silliest show in existence." Etta snorts as she simultaneously blows into a tissue, which she throws at the trash can in the corner, missing by a wide margin, causing it to land on the floor. "How do people watch it and not feel their brain cells grow dumber."

They're both in bed in the master bedroom, sitting under the covers, with a mountain of tissues strewn all around.

Olivia chuckles, rubbing soothing circles on her back as she begins to cough then. "It's been on air since before you were born. There must be something to it. "

"Ugh… what a sappy heroine." Etta makes a disgusted face as the female lead on the daytime soap swoons in a melodramatic fashion into the male protagonist's arms. "Seriously mom… why are we watching this rubbish?"

"I am trying to bore you so that you'll fall asleep and get the rest you need." Olivia jokes, turning the television off then as the credits begin to roll.

Etta shakes her head. "I am too uncomfortable to fall asleep and I don't like sitting around doing nothing. I hate being sick." She says vehemently, which promptly triggers another coughing fit.

"I know sweetheart." Olivia nods understandingly, knowing exactly how Etta felt at the moment; she brings up her hand to pull her closer against her shoulder. "I wish I wasn't unwell too. I could have taken care of you better."

"That's okay." Etta smiles, leaning into her. "It's not your fault. Plus dad waiting hand and foot on us is already getting a bit too much. I think he forgets I am not a little girl anymore and I don't need him to nurse me to health every time I sneeze. "

Olivia laughs a little despite the fact that it made her throat hurt. "This is nothing. When I was pregnant with you, he drove me so crazy in the last trimester, that I literally had to kick him out of the house one day."

"He does have a tendency to go into overdrive doesn't he?" Etta giggles drowsily against her shoulder. "You know even though being ill kinda sucks… it's nice to be with you. I feel like this is most time I got to spend with you all this month."

"I know baby." Olivia nods pulling the blankets around them a little tighter, unable to fight the twinge of guilt at her daughter's words. She knew Etta didn't mean to complain, but the fact was she had been so busy the past few weeks and with Etta now being in high school and having her own hectic school and social life, it had become increasingly difficult to spend any actual time with her daughter.

Olivia had always been determined to have a meaningful relationship with her daughter. She had desperately wanted an unquestioned closeness with her child, the kind that she wished she could have had with her own mother, the kind she might have had if her stepfather had never been in the picture.

There was a time early on in Etta's childhood when she had been deeply conflicted about her motherhood, when she had felt like her heart and mind could never be in agreement over her priorities. She had loved her daughter of course, more than anything she had ever loved and by all respects she had been an exemplary parent, doing everything right, everything that was required of her as a mother.

But she could never quell the nagging feeling inside of her that she wasn't meant for this. That her destiny lay elsewhere.

But after Walter was gone, something shifted in her. Maybe it was the fact that it left Peter so devastated, that for once, she had to be the one to hold their family together, to be the emotional equilibrium he had always been to her, but inexplicably, she had felt freed of that burden, of that dilemma that had weighed on her since the day she had found out she was pregnant. Whatever had changed within her, it had made her finally capable of opening her heart fully to her child and letting her in, allowing Olivia to love her the way she had always wanted to, without reservation.

"You know, when my mom got sick….She couldn't get out of bed by the end." Olivia tells her then. "She was in so much pain that she couldn't even talk all that much. So your Aunt Rachel and I would sit beside her and watch these trashy soaps with her while she rested. It was the only way we could spend time with her. Since then, every time I fall ill or anytime your aunt would feel under the weather and I had to take care of her… I would turn on the television to one of these dreadful shows. Somehow it always makes me feel better. It works for Rachel too. "

"Do you miss her? Your mom?"

"Yeah…" Olivia nods. "All the time." She smiles. "I think about all the times in my life, our lives, she never got to see. That she never got to see you, or Ella and Eddie."

"What was she like?" Etta asks her then.

"She was kind and gentle. " Olivia smiles, thinking about her mother. "The sweetest soul I ever knew."

"Were you close to her?"

"At one time. We were a very close knit family when my dad was still alive…" Olivia tells her, a smile lighting up her face as an image of her father flashes in her mind, handsome as ever in his uniform, when he came home from the base in the evenings and picked her up and twirled her around, as Rachel toddled towards him, grabbing his leg with her pudgy hands, the way he'd sit them both on his lap after dinner and tell them stories and then tuck them into bed.

How she wished he had been alive. Her life would have never taken the horrific turns it did. He would have been so proud of her, and he would have loved Etta so much…

"Mom..." Etta's voice distracts her from her memories. "What happened?"

" Huh?"

"You said you were close at one time? What changed?" She's looking at her with a curious expression.

"A year after my dad passed away, she married this man, who was…" Olivia pauses, feeling a slight shudder pass through her, not sure if she wanted to share this with Etta yet, before sighing.

She had promised herself a long time ago that she wouldn't shut herself off from the people she loved anymore, even if the burdens were better shouldered alone.

"He was a terrible person. A monster really. He had a drinking problem and he used to get violent with us when he was in one his rages."

Predictably, Etta inhales sharply as understanding sets into her expression. "He… beat..."

Olivia nods, squeezing her daughter's hand as a stricken look sets into her eyes. "It's fine honey. He wasn't in our lives for too long."

She doesn't tell her that the reason for that was because she had shot him and killed him at the age of nine. She isn't ready to share quite so much yet.

When Etta had been nine, she had just learnt to climb trees and would come running to her with scrapped knees and bruised elbows. She was obsessed with polka dots and would spend her time at the playground dangling from the monkey bar upside down with her friend Nigel from across the street. She had been playing the piano for five years and the violin for four and had started to learn soccer from her dad.

She didn't spend her days living in constant fear in her own house. She didn't try to keep her baby sister face safe from harm by devising silly hiding games and sneaking her into the attic for a few hours, pretending to her that they were on a treasure hunt when _he_ was particularly drunk or raging. She didn't purposely get in his way and get beaten up to keep him from ever going after Rachel. (If he had tried… Olivia would have killed him much earlier. She's sure of it.)

No, Etta's childhood had been nothing like hers, something she's thankful for every day.

"And she never tried to stop it? She didn't stop him from hitting you?" Etta asks, looking at her like she didn't grasp that concept at all.

How could she really, Olivia thinks. Etta had never known parental love to be anything except unconditional and fiercely protective. She had grown up knowing only the utter and complete devotion of her father, never having any reason to fear him, or being able to not turn to her mother when she needed her the most.

"No… she was too terrified herself to be able to help us." Olivia shakes her head, feeling that strange sense of anger surge through her.

"You know for a long time, I always thought that she was simply too afraid. That maybe she wasn't strong enough and I had made my peace with that. But when I became a mother myself…and realized what it meant to be responsible for another human being, what that feeling does to you….it didn't make any sense anymore." She reaches out to tuck a strand of loose hair behind Etta's ear, her hand lingering on her cheek as she regards her daughter's conflicted expression. "How she could have simply let that happen and never done anything…how could a mother let anybody hurt her child that way and not try to do everything in her power to stop it?" She whispers, talking more to herself as the sick feeling envelops her.

"Mom…" Etta's calling to her, putting her arms around her mother, squeezing tightly. "It's okay now…it's all in the past."

"I know it's in the past. But it's not okay." Olivia shakes her head, the pain of the past, pricking at her like pincers, pulling her daughter closer, feeling comforted by the embrace. "It's never okay." She looks at Etta, who is watching her with a concerned face. "You know the day you were born, I took one look at you and I just knew…I would never let anybody lay a hand on you. No matter what, no matter whom…I wouldn't hesitate to even kill them if they tried to harm you in any way and that was all of five seconds after I held you. I knew that with so much certainty and every time I think about that… I can't help feeling let down by her, because how could she have not felt the same way?"

"I am sure she did." Etta says slowly, taking her mother's hand into her own. "But you know, not everyone's strong the way you are mom. Nothing scares you ever… except roller-coasters maybe." She says lightly, trying forcefully to inject the lightness back into their conversation.

Olivia laughs in spite of everything. She decides to take the bait and digress. "I went with you on Space Mountain didn't I?"

"Only because dad dared you and you couldn't give him the satisfaction." She smirks knowingly. "I saw his hand after we got off the ride. It was mutilated with your nail marks."

"Well that's his fault for giving me his hand to hold." Olivia shrugs, causing Etta to laugh and promptly start coughing again.

"Ugh…" She grimaces, after her body calms down, taking the tissue Olivia hands her.

"I really hate being sick." She says angrily.

Olivia simply smiles and turns the television back on, not really realizing when they both fall asleep after a short while.

* * *

"Hey… I got you both some soup." Peter says when he comes in later, his eyes widening a little, as he surveys the room.

"Did you guys destroy a whole rain forest while I was gone?" Setting the take out bag on the bed stand next to Olivia, he quickly collects the discarded tissues strewn everywhere and drops them into the waste basket, before moving closer to check on them.

"Feeling better?" He asks, dropping a kiss on Olivia's head, before turning to their daughter.

"Not so much…" Etta shakes her head, sitting up, suddenly looking especially mournful. "I think my fever went up."

"Here let me see…" Peter sits down next to her and puts a hand over her forehead and then her throat. "You should take some more medicine after you eat."

Etta moans, burying her head against her father's chest. Peter returns her embrace, bringing his hand up to stroke her hair.

"I don't like soup." She mumbles against his shirt, sniffling a little.

"You have to eat something to keep your strength up kiddo." Peter says gently. "And you can't take medication on an empty stomach."

"I know." She nods. "Dad… will you make me a grilled cheese?" She asks then in a slightly pleading voice, which makes Olivia roll her eyes.

It never ceased to amaze her how much Etta thrived on Peter's attentions despite being all grown up as she so often claimed to be, milking his indulgent side to boot. She had a tendency to act almost infantile when she was unwell, especially if she had her father's audience.

"Of course sweetheart. I'll make you anything you want." Peter nods rubbing her back as she coughs again.

"With extra provolone and jalapenos?" She gives him a hopeful smile.

"Absolutely…."

"Not." Olivia cuts him off, giving them both a stern look. "All that greasy food is going to aggravate your sore throat. She can have some dry toast and yogurt. That'll be good for her."

"Dad…" Etta whines giving him a pout, knowing exactly how powerless he was when she gave him that look. "You're not going to make me eat dry toast are you? I already feel so sucky. Haven't I been through enough?"

"Oh come on Liv." Peter predictably caves. "Some comfort food is not such a bad idea. It'll make her feel better."

"It'll also make the coughing worse." Olivia says pointedly before sighing and putting her hands up in the air, when she sees the expression on his face. "Why do I even bother? You're going to just do what she wants anyway."

"I could make you one too." He says in an enticing voice. "You know how amazing my grilled cheese is."

"No, thank you. Unlike some people..." She stresses, looking at Etta with a disapproving glare. "I know to stay away from things that are bad for me."

Etta simply smiles, not even looking a bit contrite. "Can I have her sandwich if she doesn't want it?"

Peter laughs, ruffling her hair. "Don't push it. You can have one grilled cheese and then you'll drink some soup, to help your throat."

"Dad…."

"Etta, you need to get better don't you?" He says in a slightly stern voice, as he gets up to leave.

"Hmm… I guess." Etta sighs pitifully, sinking into her pillows, meeting her mother's amused expression.

"Overdrive huh?" She says knowingly. "Admit it; you love it that he makes such a fuss over you don't you?"

"I just let him do it…" Etta shrugs defensively. "Taking care of us makes him happy, so why not let him?"

"Right…" Olivia smiles. "You made him run back and forth four times to get you warm water at the right temperature for his benefit?"

She looks sheepish at that, rendered without a response. "Well I wouldn't ask anybody else. He _is _my dad." She shrugs then. " Taking care of me is his job, isn't it?"

"Yeah…" Olivia nods, realizing that Etta had simply stated the truth.

That's what parents were supposed to do really. Take care of their children. At all costs.

That's what her mother should have done...

"That's his job."


	73. Chapter 73

"You are making a big deal out of nothing." Etta's irate voice filters down from the hallway, followed by the loud banging of the front door.

Olivia looks up in surprise, as her daughter walks into the kitchen with Peter closely on her heels looking just as angry as her.

"Don't tell me I am making a big deal out of nothing." He shrugs his jacket in violent movements, as she turns around and regards him with her hands on her hips.

"My sixteen year old daughter making out with a college boy in public in the building where _I _work is _not_ nothing."

"We were just kissing and it was an empty classroom, till you barged in and ordered me to leave with you." She almost shouts. "And what? It would be okay if it was a building you didn't work in? Is that what this is really about?" She scoffs at him. "That I made out with a boy on your turf?"

"Don't try and get your way out of this by being sarcastic." He says grimly, folding his arms across his chest. "I am very upset right now and in no mood to appreciate your wit."

"For what?" Etta asks, looking almost bewildered. "What have I exactly done that makes you so upset dad? I met him on campus two weeks ago and we talked, went out a couple of times. How is that the end of the earth? It's not like I haven't dated a boy before."

"It's not about you dating a boy." Peter shakes his head. "It's about the fact that you somehow think you can date a college boy and I'd be okay with it. What were you even doing on campus anyway?" He demands then, looking at her suspiciously.

"We live in Cambridge. Most of it _is_ campus." Etta puts her hands up in air, giving him an incredulous expression. "What kind of question is that anyway?" She turns to her mother who's still watching them argue with a slightly frazzled expression. "Mom, would you please tell dad that he is acting like a psychopath."

"Don't talk about your father like that." Olivia says automatically, before looking at Peter with a sigh. "What happened?"

"Ask your daughter…." He says emphatically, pointing to the fuming teenager in front of him. "She's the one who was sticking her tongue down some twenty year old frat boy's throat."

"Peter…" Olivia says sharply. "There's no need for that."

"He's not twenty." Etta rolls her eyes. "And he's not a frat boy. God, you don't even know him and you've already thought the worst of him."

"I don't need to know anything about him because you're not seeing him anymore."

"That's completely unfair." She shakes her head with an enraged expression. "You can't stop me from seeing him."

"Actually I can." He says with a decisive nod. "I forbid it and unless you want to spend the rest of your school year with bars on your window and zero social life, you'll stay away from him or any sprightly Harvard collegiate men for that matter."

'Peter…" Olivia looks at him with an alarmed expression, taken aback by the blatant anger on his face. "Let's not get carried away. I know you're upset…"

"This is not about me being upset." He says coolly, turning to Olivia. "We have to be able to trust her to make good decisions and since clearly that is not the case, we'll have to take restrictive measures."

"So you're saying, you're willing to treat me no better than a prisoner if I don't do as you say. " Etta asks in a dangerously calm voice.

"If I have to." He replies tersely.

Etta simply stares at him, stoic, her wide blue eyes glistening with unshed tears, before she turns around, running up the staircase as fast as her legs will take her.

Olivia watches her daughter retreat and then turns to her husband, the lines of her face clearly contorted in displeasure.

"You cannot talk to her that way." She says blandly.

"Olivia, if you saw what I saw…."

"I don't care what you saw or thought you saw … I don't care if you saw her kissing an entire army." Her voice has turned curt. "You will not talk to our daughter like that ever again. Do you understand me Peter?"

He sighs, sinking into the stool at the kitchen island, his anger dissipating slowly as Olivia's composed voice resounds in his ear and he already regrets it.

God, he made her _cry. _

It hits him like a kick in the gut.

"His name is Daniel. He's a freshman and he's seventeen not …twenty." She says calmly, sitting next to him. "He skipped a grade and got in early. He started two months. That barely makes him a college boy. "

"You knew." Peter looks at her with mild outrage, his tone unable to hide the surprise.

"Of course I knew." She gives him a withering smile. "I am her mother. She tells me these things."

"And you didn't think you needed to share this with me?" He asks accusingly.

"It wasn't my place to tell and Etta would have told you herself sooner or later, if you hadn't completely over reacted." She gives him another severe look. "Bars on the window? Were you even listening to yourself Peter?"

"I guess that was excessive." He sighs, staring at his knuckles. "I just saw her today with that boy, who in my defense looks nothing like seventeen by the way, and they were being all…. " He halts, looking uneasy, his mind assaulted with the unappealing images he'd stumbled into while making his way down the corridor. "Anyway, I just completely lost it." He shrugs. "I mean agreed….. I was out of line, but Liv, how can I not be concerned? That's _our_ daughter." He almost whines.

"I am aware of the fact that she's our daughter." She says with a patient smile. "I was there when she was born."

"That's not what I meant." He scowls at her.

"Then what do you mean?" Olivia lays a hand on his shoulder. "I mean seriously, Peter, what is going on with you? Etta has been on dates with boys before and it's never bothered you in the past. Why do you have suddenly have a problem with it?"

He shakes his head. "It's just… I thought I knew her. I thought I knew everything about her and I always thought she was a sensible girl with a firm head on her shoulders and what I saw today was nothing like the Etta that I've known all these years. Did you know he wears a biker jacket and that his ear is pierced?" He says pointedly looking at her for some validation.

"So that clearly makes him evil and deviant?" She asks raising an eyebrow at him. "You of all people shouldn't be so quick to judge someone…"

"Considering how colorful and disreputable my own past is?" He finishes for her with a thin smile. "Cleary, I have no business looking out for my daughter's best interest because how could I right?"

"That's now what I meant and you know it." She says evenly, putting her arms around him from the back. "Peter, Etta met that boy at a Harvard Bach Society Orchestra concert, not at some frat house party or an illegal rave or anything that should concern us. She has great intuition and judgment and you know she wouldn't ignore either of those no matter what the circumstance. Do you really think that I would encourage her to see somebody if I didn't think she knew what she was doing?"

He leans back, letting his head rest against her midriff. "I guess not."

"And do you really think I would let her date somebody without saying something if I thought he wasn't good for her?"

He doesn't respond, and simply closes his eyes. "I should go talk to her."

"Yeah you should." She nods. "But not right now."

* * *

"Hey honey." Olivia knocks on the door before entering Etta's room. Her daughter is sitting at her dresser.

"You look very pretty." She says fondly as she coming to stand behind her, taking in the reflection in the mirror.

"Thanks…" Etta mumbles rather unenthusiastically.

"Here, I thought you could wear these today. They'll look nice on you." Olivia hands her a small velvet box.

"You're lending me your favorite pair of earrings?" Etta asks with a small amount of surprise as she opens the box to find her mother' most cherished piece of jewelry. It was a gift from her father for their tenth anniversary and she guarded it with a kind of zeal that Etta had yet to see her exhibit towards any material possession.

"Aren't you scared I might lose them?" She asks, fingering the delicate silver of the ornament.

"I trust you." Olivia says, giving her a look that Etta knew wasn't really about the earrings at all.

"Thanks mom...' Etta shakes her head. "But I don't think I am going to go. I just remembered… I have like a ton of homework that I need to get started on."

"On a Saturday night?" Olivia looks at her knowingly. "You've been looking forward to this party for two weeks and you're all dressed and you don't want to go?"

"I don't feel like it." Etta shrugs, biting her lower lip pensively.

"Is this about Daniel?" Olivia asks picking up the hair brush and begins to comb her hair for her.

"No…" Etta says sullenly.

"Is it about your dad?" Olivia asks then, observing the way Etta's face tightens with anger.

"He got so mad at me." She says, her voice carrying a tinge of disbelief, almost like she couldn't believe her father was capable of showing that kind of anger at her.

"I know." Olivia squeezes her shoulder.

"Why would he… how could he act like that?" Etta asks looking at her mother in incomprehension.

"Etta…" Olivia sighs. "Your dad being mad at you has very little to do with you. This is really more about him."

"Really…" Etta says skeptically. "Because he could have fooled me. He raised his voice at me mom." She whispers furiously. "And he _ordered_ me to stay away from Daniel. Dad doesn't do things like that…ever. Do you know how humiliating it is to be treated that way?"

"I understand you're upset." Olivia nods. "And I know it's disappointing that your dad wouldn't trust your judgment. But if it's any consolation, being hard on you is something that is very very difficult for Peter. It doesn't give him any satisfaction and if I know him, he's probably torturing himself over it right now."

"Then why would he do it?" Etta scoffs.

"Because… he's your father and being worried for you is kind of what he does." Olivia gives her a small smile. "And like I said honey, this is really not about you at all. He'll work it out and you guys will sort it out like you always do. In the meantime, you should go out and have fun with your friends and not mope around the house."

"I guess…" Etta nods, giving her a hesitant smile.

"Here…" Olivia picks up one the studs in her hand, "let me put them on for you."

"What do you think?" Etta asks as she studies her reflection in the mirror, after Olivia fastens the earrings on for her.

Olivia simply stares in silence, transfixed by the image in the mirror, as if suddenly seeing her daughter for the very first time.

"Mom…" Etta calls her again, looking for a response.

She smiles then. "They look great on you. Make you look very grown up."

Olivia watches sitting on the bed, as Etta proceeds to put on some gloss on her lips and apply eye shadow and mascara with a move so practiced that she's almost taken aback at her skill with it.

It was only two years ago when Etta had come into her room and asked her hesitantly if she could wear a little bit of makeup for a wedding they were going to, and Olivia had sat her down and taught her how to use lipstick.

"What?"

"Huh?"

"You're staring. Do I have something in my teeth?" She asks, slipping on a thin cardigan over the strappy black and red sundress she was wearing as she simultaneously grabs her sandals from the floor.

"Oh, its nothing." Olivia shakes her head, giving her a reassuring smile. "It just feels like you turned into this beautiful young woman when I wasn't even looking."

Etta blushes, suddenly feeling her mother's scrutinizing gaze. "Bet it won't feel like that tomorrow, when I come down for breakfast in my little mermaid pajamas and ask for chocolate chip pancakes in the shape of whales."

Olivia simply laughs. She gets up from the bed and moves closer to place a kiss on Etta's forehead. "I wish I could keep you from growing up, and that you'd never stop being my baby girl."

"I am not all the grown up yet you know." Etta says moving into her mother's embrace.

"Oh but you are." Olivia whispers, hugging her tightly. "Even if you don't realize it yet." She lets go then. "Now go have fun and don't stay out too long. I want you home before 12:30 understood?"

"Yes." Etta nods, somberly, fighting a small smile at the way her mom had completely switched modes in one second.

"And call us if you need anything. We should be home by 11:00, so if you want to be picked up…"

"Mom…" Etta rolls her eyes. "Nicki's house is just down the street. I don't need you to pick me up."

"In case it rains." Olivia says pointedly, giving her a patient smile. "And you have…"

"The number of the restaurant in case I can't reach your cell." Etta finishes for her, folding her arms across her chest. "We've been going to Marco's since I was three. I could probably swim across the river and reach there blindfolded if I had to."

"Right." Olivia says looking a little sheepish. "I'll let you get on. I am meeting your dad at the lab. Have a good time."

* * *

She closes the door behind her softly, so as to not wake her parents up. She's half an hour past curfew and she hopes her parents won't hear her or were too busy with their post dinner date… activities to care. Taking of her sandals quickly, she treads barefoot softly, towards the staircase.

"Hey." A soft voice breaks the silence and she turns around to see her dad siting at the kitchen counter, hidden partly by the shadows as a single weak light glows dully in the kitchen.

"I was wondering when you'd make your way home." He says with a hesitant smile.

"You're keeping tabs on me now?" She says blandly, all her good mood from the party evaporating. "Why don't you have mom put an FBI detail on me and that way you can just read the reports."

"I already pitched that idea to Liv when you started walking. She wasn't too sold on it." He says with a sardonic smile.

"Gee, I wonder why?" Etta rolls her eyes, before spotting a green and white box with the logo of the restaurant her parents had been to. "What's that?" She asks.

"It's a peace offering." He pushes the box in her direction, placing a fork next to it. "I got you some chocolate gateau. I asked Marco to give me the biggest slice. He even included some wild cherries on the house for you. He knows how much you like them."

"I am not hungry." She shrugs, as she considers the open pasty box, her pride fighting a losing battle with her desire to devour the sinful treat laid out so invitingly.

Damn him for knowing her weaknesses so well.

"You don't need to be hungry for cake." He gives her a knowing smile. "And I wouldn't recommend waiting till tomorrow. The kitchen elves might get to them before you get a chance. There may not even be any left by morning."

Despite everything, Etta can't help the smile that pulls at her lips, when he mentions the kitchen elves. It's a story she used to make up when she had been little, when she would sneak into the kitchen in the night and help herself to sweets and snacks in the fridge and later claim innocence, swearing to her parents that it wasn't her but the kitchen elves.

"I suppose I could take a bite or two." She says, pretending nonchalance, even if her nostrils were being tortured by the rich scent of chocolate. With a discipline completely unlike her, she takes measured steps towards the kitchen island, pulling out a stool and sitting down demurely, before taking a small bite with the fork.

And despite all her intentions to pretend to be unaffected, she can't help the sigh of contentment that escapes her lips.

"Doesn't that make life worth living?" He asks her with a chuckle.

She gives him a huge chocolate stained grin, forgetting for a minute that she was angry with him.

"This is an insanely large piece." She says looking at the size of her desert, happily taking another bite, a far more generous chunk than last time.

"I wanted to get to get you the whole cake." He says moving across to sit next to her. "Your mother vetoed that particular decision."

"She's the one with all the good sense in the family." Etta shrugs.

"Of that, I have never had any doubts." He laughs, before meeting her eyes, an apologetic look setting into them. Etta looks away, busying herself with finding another fork which she pushes wordlessly towards him.

"You're sharing?" He says incredulously, holding the piece of flatware up as if it were some mythical object. "You're sharing your second most favorite food item in the whole world? That's a first."

She gives him a tight smile. "Let's chalk it up to a week of firsts."

He chuckles, nodding. "Is that your indirect way of bringing up our little fight from yesterday?"

"Are we calling it a fight because that was not the impression I got. A boot camp briefing maybe." She rolls her eyes.

"I deserve that." He nods somberly, setting the fork down. "I was way out of line with the way I acted. I shouldn't have yelled at you. That's not okay."

"I don't care that you yelled at me." Etta sighs, meeting his gaze, her eyes then truly betraying the extent of her hurt, making Peter cringe with guilt. "I mean I do care, but only because you've never ever yelled at me and maybe I am not used to you being that way. But that's not really the issue dad."

"You're right it's not."

"I care that after telling me all my life that I should be independent and make my own decisions, you would disregard them so blatantly." She pushes the cake away, suddenly feeling all her misery return like a sick feeling in her stomach. "I care that you know me better than anyone else in the whole world and you don't trust me."

"Etta I…"

"That's what it is, isn't it?" She asks, her eyes pleading. "You're disappointed in me."

"I am not…." Peter swallows, reaching out to touch her face. "I could never be disappointed in you. That's not possible."

"Then why would you say those things to me?" She whispers, struggling to hold in the sudden tears that prick at her eyelids. "How could you say those things to me, dad?"

"Oh god, honey…" Peter brings both his hands to rest on her cheeks. "Please don't cry. You know I can't bear to see that. It's not something I am equipped to deal with."

Etta laughs despite everything, because she knows her tears are her father's kryptonite. They made him completely incapable of functioning. She squeezes her eyes shut, trying to fight them, but they flow anyway and before she knows it, she's being pulled into her father's embrace.

"I am sorry." He's whispering to her, his hands weaving through her hair. "I am so sorry I made you feel this way. I am clearly the worst father in existence if I can do this to my kid."

"You're not the worst father in existence." She mumbles against his chest, before pulling away.

"Top three then?" He asks with a slight smile, thumbing away the wet tracts on her cheeks.

"Quit it dad." She rolls her eyes, her voice still a little heavy, as she sinks back into the stool.

"Your mom told me." He then says with a visible embarrassed expression. "About Daniel. He seems okay… I might have jumped to conclusions on that one."

"You think?" She offers him a dry smile.

"Yeah…" He nods. "Bach Society huh? He sounds a little geeky don't you think?"

"Dad…" Etta gives him a warning look to which Peter merely smiles.

"So how come you tell your mom things and not me anymore." He nudges her elbow, giving her a curious smile. "When did that happen?"

"I still tell you things." She smiles shyly. "And I was going to tell you, before you decided to go all Eastern bloc on me."

He laughs at that before sighing, falling silent for a few seconds, staring pensively at his hands.

" I am sorry. I should have never doubted your decision." He says with an almost dejected tone. "You don't screw up and make mistakes that mess up your life like I used to. I guess I was so shaken by the idea that you could be headed down the path that I was when I was your age that I wasn't thinking straight. I forgot… you take after your mother that way, which is a really really good thing." He nods decisively.

"I am not perfect dad." Etta says, laying a hand over his. "I screw up all the time. I make mistakes and I might even make big mistakes that mess up my life. "

"No you won't." Peter says confidently. "I know you won't."

"Say I did." She presses on, giving him a nod. "I can make them with the confidence that no matter what happens, no matter the consequences that you and mom will be there for me. You wouldn't give up on me would you?"  
"There's no chance." He ruffles her hair. "I couldn't give up on you anymore than you could disappoint me."

"Good, that's settled." She nods. "Now how about we pretend like this never happened and eat cake."

Peter chuckles, bending to place a kiss on her forehead. "I like that idea very much."


	74. Chapter 74

He'll sling her over his left shoulder, arms dangling upside down, flannel clad legs that kick against his strong chest in mock protest as they make their way up the stairs.

"But I am not sleepy daddy…" She giggles, over pronouncing her 'ees', her long loose hair cascading like magic, flaxen ropes bouncing up and down the length of her upside down arms as he ascends one step after the other.

"That's what you say every day." He chuckles, and the chuckle makes his chest vibrate and her toes tingle.

And she simply giggles some more because she thinks if she stops saying it, then her daddy won't sling her over his left shoulder and take her upstairs, and she won't see the world upside down through the screen of her hair for the thirty seconds it takes to go up the stairs and turn left to the nursery.

"What about the monsters?" She asks, nose scrunched, eyes wide and curious, as he settles her into the bed. "What if they get me when I sleep?"

The nursery is an enchanted forest. It's magical, her daddy tells her, with spells to keep the monsters away. She'll be safe here always, he tells her. There are silver stars in the lace canopy of her bed which twinkle just a little bit in the dark, when they catch the moonlight from the window.

The stars are for sweet dreams, he tells her as he tucks her in and pulls the blankets up to her neck, because she doesn't like being cold.

"What kind of dreams?" She asks him, as he switches on the nightlight on the nightstand.

"The kind of things little girls like to dream about." He smiles, like he knows every one of them, her dreams, because he knows everything about her.

"Will you tell me a story?" She asks as he reaches for her favorite book, the one with all the magical fairytales. She likes books, but she likes his stories so much better.

He tells her a story about a place in a time, of an ancient city which has existed for a thousand years and then some. They called it Constantinople, he tells her, now they call it Istanbul. He tells her about a mosque that was bluer than her eyes and a bazaar where you could buy a real magic lamp , and if you looked hard enough… you'd find a flying carpet hidden somewhere in a rug stall, and the air was always fragrant with spices and perfumes.

"Another…. Tell me another one daddy."

He tells her a story about the Bedouins in Egypt he met once, desert dwellers who always found their way back even when there was nothing but sand all around and a seven year old boy who could ride horses like the wind. He tells her about the Roman ruins in Alexandria and the avenue of sphinxes at the temple of Luxor.

"Do you think I'll go there someday?" She asks as they stare at the ceiling together, where the glow in the dark stars shimmer pretty. He lies next to her on a bed too small for him, his feet sticking out at the edge.

"Do you think I'll have an adventure like you?" She looks at him anxiously. She's already four and there's so much to be done. Flying carpets and magic lamps to be found, horses to be ridden in the desert. She has to see everything and do everything. Cairo and Istanbul and Paris and Buenos Aires.

"You'll go there someday." He tells her in that voice that is always so sure of everything. "You'll see the world and have many many adventures and you'll come home and tell me all about them. They'll be your stories then."

"It's almost an hour past your bed time." Mommy's now standing at the door with the smallest frown on her face, looking at them both. She says like she's angry, but she's really not because she's smiling.

"What are you still doing up?" She walks over to sit down on the bed, looking at her father. "I thought you were supposed to be getting her to sleep, not keeping her up."

"We were almost done." He grins at her mother and then winks at her. "Isn't that right?"

Mommy simply rolls her eyes at him and ruffles her hair, bending down to kiss her forehead.

"Goodnight baby." She whispers, before leaving the room. "Sweet dreams."

Daddy kisses her too then, and tells her to sleep well and whispers in her ear what he tells her every night.

_Na einai kalitero anthropo apo ton patera tou_

"Your stories are real aren't they?" She asks, as daddy then gets up then to leave. "They're not like the fairytales in my book."

"Fairytales can be real too." He smiles. "Sometimes."

"Really? Do you know any?" She asks excitedly, even as she fights off a tired yawn.

"I know one." He nods, as he reaches for the light.

"Which one daddy?"

He simple smiles at her, looking at her in that odd way he sometimes does.

"You're the fairytale sweetheart." He tells her then. "You're the fairytale that came true."

That night, she dreams of riding a horse in the desert.


	75. Chapter 75

"I thought I'd never get to dance with you tonight." She says as he pulls her into his arms and they begin to sway slowly.

"Yeah, thank god for chocolate cake." He chuckles, moving them closer. "I thought my shoes would wear out."

"Your daughter sure knows how to monopolize your time. Somebody needs to teach her to share." She nods, her eyes automatically drifting to the table where Etta was seated next to Broyles, happily helping herself to her second slice of the wedding cake. The band was now on its last set and Olivia had only now gotten to the dance floor, having patiently waited for an hour while Etta danced with Peter, song after song, standing on his feet, giggling and laughing as he twirled her around and spun her in his arms and showed her how to waltz and swing. It was only when the desert was announced did she finally relent and allow her mother to have a turn.

Except Astrid had cut in and of course being the bride, Olivia couldn't refuse her, and so it was yet another song before she could finally get to dance with her own husband.

"This is nice." She sighs, resting her head against his chest. She can feel his smile, even though she can't see his face. He knows how much she loves this…. dancing. It why he's still here on the floor with her, even though his feet probably hurt quite a bit after the continued activity.

She loves the way their bodies fit together when they move, like they sometimes did on late nights in their living room after popping in a jazz record on the turntable. She likes the way he leads her without needing any prompting, the way the cadences of their bodies synchronize effortlessly.

It's one of the little things that reminds her that they were really made for each other.

"It was a beautiful wedding wasn't it. I am so glad everything went well." She says, looking at Astrid beaming face as she sat next to her new husband, smiling over some private joke.

She looks so completely… in love.

Olivia wonders if she ever looks like that when she's with Peter. If people see in plain sight, every emotion she felt for this person who was her everything to say the very least.

"Hmm..." He simply nods, over the top of her head, as he lets his eyes roam around the party. It really was a very tastefully done affair, the kind he remembers only seeing on the covers of the Bridal magazines at the newsstand where he sometimes bought his morning papers.

He didn't know Astrid would go for something like this.

It's funny how people always found a way to surprise him.

He remembers their own wedding and the distinct lack of weddingness the whole thing had resonated with. A perfunctory five minute ritual at city hall they had squeezed in somewhere between working a case and dealing with Etta's teething pains.

Rachel had looked like she was going to throw something when Olivia had told her there wasn't going to be a big wedding. She had begged, pleaded, even resorted to some emotional blackmailing but Olivia wouldn't be swayed. So she had dedicated herself to doing the best with what she had been allowed, a dinner for their closest friends and families after. She had put her heart and soul into organizing the rooftop party and had spent hours finding the perfect white non-wedding wedding dress for Olivia to wear for the ceremony.

There had been toasts and a couple of speeches even… but it wasn't really anything on this scale, Peter thinks.

"You know I never told you this… but I was going to ask you." He says, as he looks at his wife of now five years, thinking back to the day when she came to be that.

"Ask me what?"

"To marry me."

"You did…" She reminds him with a soft smile, holding up their intertwined hands to show him the wedding rings. "And I said yes in case you've forgotten."

"Yeah… though that was really an afterthought wasn't it." He says, considering their clasped fingers. "We did that for Etta more than for ourselves. I was going to ask you …before."

"Before we had the baby?" She looks at him curiously.

"No before…." he pauses. " Before, you know… the machine and… I went poof." He says meaningfully, letting her eyes absorb in understanding. "Before that day when the world began to crumble around us and we were actually happy for once. I was going to ask you…"

"You were?" She looks at him with a surprised expression.

"Yeah…" He nods, slowly, a sad smile on his face. "I was saving up for a ring and everything." He looks embarrassed suddenly, averting his eyes from her. "I don't know, I thought maybe we could have something normal you know. Something about our relationship that wasn't so completely fucked up."

He waves his hand around then in an unspecified manner, his voice rife with guilt. "Sometimes I feel like I robbed you of all this. You should have had a proper wedding."

"I had a great wedding." She says shaking her head as she gives him a reassuring smile. "I married the man that I loved and all the people who were important to me were there to share it with me."

He smiles and nods, pressing a kiss to her forehead before, pulling her closer. "Of all the things in my life that I regret, and that's a pretty long list really, my biggest regret is that I never got the chance to do things right with you."

She stills, realizing by the tone of his voice, what or rather _who_ he was referring to.

"Peter…" She begins to protest, but he shakes his head.

"I know you don't like to remember, but it something I can never forgive myself for. If I hadn't been so stupid and had realized…"He reaches out to smoothen a lock of her hair, falling over her face. "I never even got to take you on a proper first date, or a second one… or asked you to move in with me, or actually proposed in an acceptable way or given you a real wedding. Most women dream about a fairytale romance. I basically dragged you into a macabre sci-fi nightmare, and you never ever complained about how completely messed up the whole thing was really " He sighs, his eyes betraying an ancient melancholy, as the song draws to a close.

She breaks away from him a little, considering him with a taut expression. "Is that what you think? That I have been somehow shorted of a big fancy wedding and a sappy proposal and all those important courtship milestones and that our entire relationship is no better than a nightmare."

"No, of course not… that's not..." He begins to protest, surprised by the look of quiet anger she was giving him, but she cuts him off, before he can finish his sentence.

"Do you think our life together, our marriage, our family… our daughter, all of that is somehow deficient because we didn't get to go out on proper first date?"

He puts his hand on her arm. "Olivia…you know I don't think that."

She sighs, moving closer to him as she loops her arms around his neck. Another song begins to play and she starts to lead them now, almost imperceptibly. "Then don't say you have regrets about us, because I don't have a single one. I don't regret a thing."

He simply smiles, pulling her close once more. He knows better than to counter her at times like these.

"I never needed any of that." She tells him after a few seconds, her voice merely above a whisper, her head once again finding that spot against his chest. "It doesn't matter to me that we didn't do things that other people usually do."

"I know." He nods. "I just wish…it could have been different. You deserved so much better than what I could give you Olivia. I wish I could have done better. I really do."

His words make her cringe, and she can see in his eyes the same sadness she'd seen that day at the hospital, when she'd awoken to him sitting beside her, looking absolutely relieved and wrecked in the same instant.

It's a sadness she's seen many times, when something inevitably makes him remember…

She knows the guilt he carries with him can never truly be shaken off, no matter how long ago she'd forgiven him for it, no matter how many times she tries to remind him that it didn't matter to her anymore.

To ask him to forget is to ask him to somehow love her less than he does and that's not something she's ever had any control over.

She just wishes he could see, that there was nothing to punish himself over, nothing he has not given her in full measure and more, no happiness he has denied her. If anything he has made her happier than she sometimes feels she deserve, given her too much, tried too hard…

"You gave me everything." She tells him, her hand travelling up to caress his cheek. "You gave me our family. You gave me our daughter Peter. What could possibly ever compare to that?

He smirks at that, like she knew he would.

"I can't take all the credit for that. That was more of a team effort."

It'd be unlike him to pass up on something like that without a witticism and she laughs too.

"I have a husband, who takes care of me, loves me and always has my back." She hugs him tighter than before, feeling his heart beat against her ear drum. "Who still tells me I am beautiful after ten years of knowing me and who'll do anything to make me happy, including dancing with me even though his feet are probably killing him right now. How many women can say that?"

He kisses the top of her head. "You have a really great way of seeing the best in everything you know that." He chuckles slowly.

"Don't you see?" She tells him, wondering how anyone that smart could be so clueless. "It doesn't matter we didn't get a perfect wedding, we have something better than that."

"Yeah?" He looks at her with some curiosity. "What is that?"

"Yeah, you idiot …" She nods. "We have an actual marriage, one that makes me happier with every day that goes by, more than a billion white weddings could. Why don't you understand that?"

He nods slowly, a grin forming on his lips as he gives her his signature sheepish expression.

"So no regrets?" He asks looking at her for a final seal of confirmation.

She shakes her head, trying to fight a smile , resisting the urge to smack him over the head, before pulling him closer for a kiss, not caring that a dozen of her colleagues including her boss was right there and would probably see her.

She doesn't doubt that she looks exactly like Astrid did a few moments ago.

She whispers against his lips.

"No regrets."


	76. Chapter 76

"You're leaving?"

Two words. It' simple enough, but one that takes too much effort out of her and at first she almost shies away from saying them. It's not an easy question to ask and she can't promise those two simple words won't unleash… everything.

Because, yeah maybe she's more than a little taken aback and frankly insulted, to say the least, that he wouldn't even discuss this with her before embarking on what she suspects he's already planned out for the most part.

After all they've been through, good and bad, doesn't he owe her that much, common courtesy, the decency of being told rather than having to find out if nothing else.

So it's no surprise that there is more accusation than question in her voice, making him look up from the microscope he's peering into.

He blinks, his eyes falling on the newspaper she was holding up with the job postings circled out, in places that were far far away from here, for everything from construction worker to piano tutor.

It's terribly old school for someone like him, red marker and classifieds, and she suspects the paper is more of a private joke really, an exercise in what ifs, or a last resort perhaps, if his extensive intercontinental network of respectable and less than respectable contacts should fail in finding him a way out of Boston.

Not that she has any doubts they will, not that she has any doubts he couldn't find a way himself. She's always known that there was nothing she could do or say that could stop him from getting the hell out of here if he really wanted to.

He then meets her gaze and she sees in his eyes what she's been dreading from the day she's met him….the certainty that he was going to leave.

Leave her…

He doesn't look surprised or guilty at having his intentions revealed. Instead he simply gives her a resigned sigh.

"I've been thinking about it. Yes."

She wills her knees to not give way as the implications of his words hit her like a kick in the gut. She stares, impressively calm before saying the only thing she really could.

"Why?" Her voice sounds hollow and devoid of emotion, completely unlike how she felt in the moment.

He shrugs then, a thin humorless smile playing on his lips. "Why not?"

He doesn't say anything else, and even if she was perfectly within her rights to ask for more of an explanation she doesn't.

Because she already knows why. Has feared this moment since the day she left him in that stranger's garden after telling him she didn't want to be with him.

_I came back for you... for us…_

Only she hadn't lived up to her end of the bargain and now he was going to leave…her.

"What about Walter?" She asks instead, swallowing the sick feeling in her stomach.

_What about me? What about… us? _ She wants to ask, but stops herself.

"What about him?" He asks, answering her question with one of his.

"Doesn't he need you?"

_Don't I need you? Don't we need each other?_

Who else would help her make sense of this world? Who else could she trust to have her back, to watch out for her.

Didn't he realize how lost she was without him, how all alone she'd become….

"He'll be fine." He nods with a convinced expression. "He's not the same man I checked out of a mental institution three years ago. He's better now. Broyles thinks so too."

"You've spoken to Broyles about this?" She says numbly, realizing just how serious he was about leaving.

"Yeah, we discussed it." He says mechanically. "He's okay with it."

"I see." She stares right through him, trying to feel something more than the void that was eating her up from the inside.

"Where will you go?"

"I don't know yet."

"Well, let me know when you do." She nods woodenly, averting her eyes. "We'll probably have to hire someone… to replace you."

"Of course" He nods.

"I trust you won't leave without a goodbye?" She asks then, already turning away. She pauses then, needing to ask.

Needing to _know._

"It's because of me isn't it?" She asks, feeling like a small child whose world was crumbing under her feet, powerless to do anything about it.

He gives her a sad smile, shaking her head. His voice is a strangled whisper.

"No… it's because of me."

* * *

She counts the reasons in her head over and over, reasons that could make him stay, convince him to not leave.

He had a life here, a steady one, an important job… one that paid much better than sweeping floors at warehouses or whatever it was he would end up doing anywhere else. And he had a home and a routine to count on, stability and consistency….

Except she knew he didn't care about any of those things.

She could ask Walter of course, but Walter wouldn't force him to stay against his will….not this time. Not after everything that had happened. Even though he was probably the only person who seemed more miserable about his son's impending departure than her.

"He'd stay if you asked him, you know." He tells her one day, cornering her in the back office, an almost pleading look on his face that makes Olivia feel more than ever that she's the responsible person in all of this.

Even if he's the one who broke her heart and was now running away and leaving her to pick up the pieces.

"I can't ask him to do that." She shakes her head.

"But you can. He would do anything for you. You've always known that."

"Walter, I can't keep him from living his life." She says apologetically. Because it's wrong on every level. To keep him here out of that strange sense of allegiance he's always shown with regard to her.

"Nonsense." He scoffs. "His life is here, Olivia…. with us, with me… with you." He says before he looks at her as if realizing then something, closing his eyes, sighing.

"Forgive me Agent Dunham. I forget myself sometimes. I didn't mean to suggest of course… It didn't occur to me that maybe you have no reason to ask him to stay."

It feels like she's been slapped the way he's says it,

_No reason?_

She can think of more than one reason. Many in fact. She just can't think of any that would make him want to.

Astrid comes up to her two days later and asks cautiously… if the rumors were true, if Peter was thinking about leaving because it sounded like he was talking to someone about a job on the phone earlier.

Olivia nods, says she can't be sure but yes, there's a chance he might and mechanically asks her then if she knows anybody they can get from the bureau to replace him.

Astrid looks at her dumbstruck, struggling to not ask the inevitable before she eventually caves.

"He's discussed this with you?"

"He's informed me. Yes." She says, eyes focused on the file. Discussed would be a stretch, given that they hadn't spoken about it since the time she confronted him.

She hadn't asked, he hadn't said anything.

"And you're okay with it?"

"No reason not to be." She shrugs. "This was always supposed to be a temporary arrangement. I am sure Peter has other things he probably wants to do with his life."

It's easy enough to get lost in these technicalities. To pretend like this job was like any other, and that his leaving had little if any to do with anything between them.

"Right." Astrid nods, looking far from convinced. "Well, then… maybe you can let me know when he's planning on leaving. I'd like to give him a going away party or something."

"I am sure he'll like that." She smiles brightly, to the point where her cheeks hurt.

An hour later, she finds herself locked up in a stall of the women's restroom, crying silent tears of frustration, breaking down in a way she hadn't allowed herself to do in a very long time.

* * *

"I think I've found something." He tells her the next day when they're in the car.

"Huh?"

"It's a job…" His voice trails off.

She blinks slowly, gripping the steering wheel with more force than necessary, before nodding.

"Okay."

"I wanted you to be the first to know."

"Okay."

"I am planning on talking to Broyles about it tomorrow."

"Okay."

"If everything pans out… I'll probably be gone by the end of this week."

She simply nods, staring at the windshield, unable to look at him in that moment if her life depended on it, before forcing a small smile.

"That's great Peter. I am glad everything worked out for you." She says mechanically.

She knows he's looking at her, probably waiting for something more, but she simply continues to look at the traffic in front of her.

"Thanks." He says then just as blandly, before averting his gaze to his window.

They don't talk after that.

_You took him away from me. _ She thinks, anger coursing through her veins, as she stares into the darkness of her bedroom.

It wasn't enough that _she_ had stolen her identity, her life, Peter…

But now even when she wasn't here anymore, she was driving him away from her.

The beside clock on her nightstand gleams ominously with blue luminescent digits, telling her that its 5: 39 in the morning.

She has been wide awake since she climbed into bed, counting out the seconds, each oppressive moment that passes twisting her insides slowly.

In four hours and twenty one minutes, Peter would walk into Broyles office and tell him that he was leaving.

Five days later he would be gone, just like that. Nothing left of him; leaving behind an empty lab and a mad genius for her to deal with.

No more Peter bringing her coffee in the mornings, or riding in the car with her to crime scenes and follow leads making wisecracks, calling on strange contacts to help her, no more Peter to watch her back and tell her it'll be fine.

Never again would she feel his lips against hers, his hand on her face.

It's the future she must resign herself to. To being alone again, to never knowing what they could have together.

She's not a romantic person. She doesn't believe in soul mates and true love and all that jazz. Realistically, someday, there could be someone else in her life, who could stand where Peter stood.

Except she_ knows_ in her heart there's no one in this world or any other for that matter who is capable of being to her what Peter is.

She hasn't felt love like this for anybody, not even for John. It's a love that makes her aware of her broken self and mends it at the same time, reminds of her the gaping void in her own being that he somehow makes complete and renders incomplete at the same time.

But how could she ask him to change his mind, not when she couldn't promise him she could get past what had happened, not when she was still unable to look at him and not wonder how he failed to see….

And now he would leave. She knew he would. He would just pack up his life in a bag and go away somewhere far and she would never see him again.

A wave of panic hits her as she contemplates that thought, her stomach emptying out from the inside as she gasps.

She couldn't let this happen. She simply couldn't. There was no way she'd survive this life without him, live year after year of emptiness by herself.

It's a ridiculous notion she knows, but it's a truth she understands.

She _needs_ him. It's as simple as that. He's the one thing outside of her she can't do without.

* * *

And for once she must learn to swallow her pride and tell him that. Even if he doesn't stay. Even if he still leaves her. Even if she couldn't deliver on the promise she'd made to him now or six months from now.

She grabs her phone, finger hitting the speed dial before she has any doubts.

"Hello?" He picks up after just one ring.

She closes her eyes at the sound of his voice, committing the unique quality of it to the muscle memory of her ears.

She doesn't think she could live a lifetime without hearing that voice.

"Peter…" It's a strangled whisper that escapes her lips, relived, tortured…all at the same time.

"Olivia… is that you?" His voice goes from curious to worried in a matter of seconds, undoubtedly a reaction to her own audible distress.

"Are you okay?" He asks her then and she shakes her head even though she knows he can't see her.

She shudders, swallowing the sob that gets stuck in her throat as she feels herself come untethered.

She wants to break down right then, tired of her anger, tired of this resentment she can't let go of, tired of this punishment they were both suffering for no fault of theirs.

She wants to tell him, he can't just walk out of her life and expect her to let him go without a fight. That he has to stay and fight for them.

That what they had was worth fighting for.

She wants to promise him it'll be okay someday.

That they'll be okay.

"Stay….please…" She says instead.

There's a sharp intake of breath on the other end of the line, and she hears him swallow audibly.

Time seems frozen, even though only a couple of seconds go by.

"Okay." He tells her then, his voice simple, warm… decisive.

"Okay." She repeats numbly, closing her eyes in relief as tears of gratitude start pouring freely down her cheeks.

She nods, knowing once again, that he couldn't really see her.

"I'll see you in a while then?" She asks, not even bothering to mask her chocked voice,

"Of course." He says rather cheerfully, pretending for her benefit no doubt, that he didn't know she was crying. "You should really get some rest you know."

"I will." She laughs, before disconnecting the phone.

She finally falls asleep.


	77. Chapter 77

In all her sixteen years of existence, Etta can count on one hand the number of times, her father has actually been angry at her and meant it.

It's not because she hadn't done things that could cause him to be angry because she has. Her mother would testify to the fact that she was certainly no golden child, having a wild streak that surfaced quite often, and while he would get worked up, frustrated, irritated even at her occasional bouts of disobedience or unruliness, mostly he always seemed to take them in stride, with amusement more than anything else, perhaps some tacit admiration even. At best, he would make a half-hearted attempt at telling her she couldn't have desert after dinner, a dictate he would then most likely break himself by bringing her some later in the night.

He simply didn't have the heart to be strict with her, a self-admitted weakness he was all too aware of, which is why her mother had been slotted in the role of disciplinarian by default.

Etta was used to stern looks and talks from _her_ when she didn't do things she was supposed to or did things she wasn't supposed to. But it was done in much too a calm and even-handed fashion for it to qualify as a real demonstration of anger.

Truth be told, Etta wasn't so sure her mother was any more comfortable meting out punishments than her dad was, which is why she suspects she has gotten off easy for the most part, for the many shenanigans she has pulled over the years.

But today as they drive home from the hospital, she suspects it's going to be anything but easy.

She scans their faces as they sit in the front driving in silence. They both look exhausted beyond limits, wearing the tired expression of parents who had spent the better part of the last two days by their child's bedside, attending to her needs and barely getting any rest themselves.

She can see the deep lines of worry on her mother's face, the way her eyes keep nervously drifting to the rearview mirror, checking on her through the reflection. It's to be expected she supposes.

After all, she is far from mint condition. A broken wrist and a badly splintered right leg, her shoulder was messed up, and she had some frightful looking bruises and gashes all over.

And despite how banged up she was, the doctor told them she was lucky to have gotten away with little damage. That she should consider herself really fortunate that she'll be making a full recovery.

If you didn't count the six weeks or roughly three-fourths of her summer break she'd be spending mostly in her bed, unable to do much, waiting for her leg to heal and probably undergoing some torturous physiotherapy, while her friends went on road trips and vacations and camping and had bonfires at the beach and pool parties, all of it without her.

But she doesn't care about any of that right now. It's the expression on her father's face that is really unnerving her in the moment.

Because right now, is one of those rare times when her father is very very angry at her, one of those shockingly unusual occasions in her life when she's on the receiving end of that look in his eyes that made her feel worse than any punishment or penalty could or would possibly could.

The look that said he was disappointed in her, that he expected better from her.

She'd rather be grounded for the whole summer and be locked up in her room than have to see him look at her that way.

And worse than that look, is the very raw pain underneath it, the fear that he's trying so hard to hide behind the furrowed gaze and the stormy, brooding expression.

To know she has caused him that pain is killing her and if she wasn't so hopped up on the extra strength painkillers she'd been put on and her mind in a medication induced fog, she'd probably be bawling like a baby, begging for forgiveness from both of them.

Except she's not sure sorry is going to even begin to fix this whole thing. She's not sure anything ever is.

When they get home, he helps her out of the back seat without a word, while her mom fetches the overnight duffel bag from the back.

In a foolish attempt at trying to prove she wasn't so badly injured, she gets up and tries to place her bandaged leg on the ground, almost immediately stumbling. But his reflexes are razor sharp and he holds her before she falls.

"I've got you." He says gently, lifting her into his arms in a practiced move like she was no older than five.

"Dad I can walk… its fine." She protests feebly, trying to breathe through the searing pain that was shooting up her leg now, knowing very well she couldn't even move.

She doesn't want him to be protective of her.

Not when he was acting like he couldn't be in the same room as her.

"Save it." He simply says, not even looking at her, making his way into the house. He carries her all the way to her room and deposits her onto the bed, without once making eye contact with her. But he's still gentle as he helps her get into a comfortable position and adjusts her pillows for her.

"Dad…" She calls out to him, as he moves to close her window blinds to stem the sunlight from hitting her in the eyes, but he doesn't respond, simply nodding at her mother who has come upstairs to join them.

"I am going to go to the pharmacy and get her prescriptions filled out. I'll make a grocery run to the store as well." He says to her and leaves without a second glance at Etta.

Her mother simply nods and turns to Etta with a warm smile. "Let's get you comfortable, shall we?"

Etta doesn't say anything as her mother helps her into a pair of pajamas and covers her with blankets.

"He's mad at me isn't he?" She whispers then, already feeling her eyes close with fatigue, as she tries to fight the lulling effect of the pills she was on.

"I am afraid he is." She nods, brushing the hair out of her face.

"Do you think he'll stop sometime soon?" Etta looks at her mother with a pleading expression, needing to know.

Because she really can't bear this hostility for too long… not from her father. Not when she was already feeling so physically and mentally vulnerable.

"I don't think I can answer that question. " Olivia shakes her head with a sad smile. "That's up to him and I am not going to lie. He's not particularly fond of you right now. I don't think… I am feeling all that fond of you really. "

"Right." Etta nods, not bothering to stop the tear that spills down her cheek. "I guess I deserve that."

Her mom simply reaches out to wipe away the wetness on her face, bending down to place a kiss on her forehead.

"You need to rest now and get better. We'll deal with all of that later, okay baby?" She tells her.

"Mom… I am really sorry." She whispers, already half asleep.

"I know you are." She thinks she can hear her say shakily, as Etta feels gentle hands stroking her hair tenderly.

"I just wish you didn't have to be."

* * *

For the next three days, she mostly sleeps through her meds which kept her from feeling the excruciating pain her broken body parts were in, while her parents took care of her in turns.

Her dad was still barely talking to her, except when it was absolutely certain. She was finding it hard to understand how someone could care for her with such gentleness and still be so angry with her. He changed her bandages for her and checked the progress on her major injuries and did everything to make sure she was in no discomfort in any way. He even cooked her favorite meals for her and spoon fed her, when it became obvious she couldn't handle it with her injured wrist.

And yet he wouldn't actually have a conversation with her, or sit with her and spend any time with her like her mom did.

"Do you plan on saying any words to me that don't include _it's time to take your medicine _ and are_ you in any more pain_ in this calendar year?" She finally asks him the fifth day, unable to bear the silent treatment any longer.

He's dressing the gash on her forehead and she sees the way his jawline tightens noticeably as his eyes meet hers briefly.

"I wouldn't hold my breath on it." He shrugs, going back to his task.

The sting of his words is far worse than the antiseptic she can feel burning her skin, and it's almost enough for her to simply give up on any hope that she could make it better between them.

But she is her parent's daughter after all and every bit stubborn as they were.

"Come on dad, how about giving me a break? I mean it can't be that awful. Even mom doesn't seem upset with me and we both know she's the tough one."

He shakes his head. "Trust me, she is. She's just better at hiding it than I am. And she's more focused on getting you better right now than unleashing her wrath. You should thank your stars for that."

"Dad… I know I messed up." She sighs irritably, tired of this whole situation, wanting for things to just be normal.

"Really, what gave it away?" He smirks humorlessly, as he puts a band-aid on her wound.

"The glaring absence of your sense of humor for one." She says, unable to help the quip even though she knows she's already on thin ice with him.

"My daughter almost dying in a car crash is not all that funny to me." He says looking at her then with a bland expression. "Help me out here; maybe I missed the joke in that somewhere."

She swallows, feeling his hard, unyielding stare on her, suddenly feeling very petty indeed.

"I didn't die did I?" She says then in a small voice, giving him a hesitant smile.

"No you didn't." He nods, closing his eyes, as he lets out a shaky breath. "But you could have suffered far worse than a few broken bones. You could have been brain damaged, or paralyzed for life .You could have been blinded, or crippled or lost important limbs or body functions or suffered serious injury to your internal organs. You could have… you could have died." He exhales sharply, his eyes reflecting utter and absolute terror.

"You were unconscious for eight whole hours and for every second of those eight hours, I kept running through my head, every possible scenario, imagining every awful, terrible, devastating thing that could happen to you. I kept thinking what if you were never able to play the piano or the violin ever again. What if you could never walk after this or couldn't play soccer, or couldn't go to school anymore or never be able to make it to college?

Do you have any idea what that's like? To have to sit there helplessly and have to contend with the possibility that your child's life could never be the same again? That everything that you'd hoped and dreamed for her could fall to pieces. That she may not even live to see her seventeenth birthday?"

"Dad..." Etta sighs, shaken by the raw concern in his eyes. "Please… you can't think like that. I am fine. Nothing happened."

"But anything could have happened.' He shakes his head. "Anyone of those terrible things could have happened to you and I could have done absolutely done nothing to fix it." He gets up then, looking at her with a somewhat crumbled expression. "There are many things, virtually everything I can forgive you for Etta. But putting your life in danger is not one of them. You got into a car with a boy you barely knew, who was clearly drunk when you should have called me or your mom. No matter how upset we would have been at finding out you had been at that party, we would have still come to get you. We would have brought you home safe like you should have been. But you didn't and now you're hurting and broken and I have to watch you in pain and that's not something I am going to feel okay about anytime soon. "

"I don't expect you to understand that but it is what it is." He says with a note of finality.

Etta doesn't say anything else after that.

* * *

Later in the night, after she's fallen asleep, he comes to her room, like he has every night, watching her sleep, taking inventory of the wounds, noting the minute improvements.

It's like time travelling twenty years in the past, when he was staring at an unconscious Olivia while she was an inch away from death, thinking he was about to lose the important person in his life, even if he didn't know how much he loved her.

That suffocating fear he had all but forgotten… it had burst through his veins with vengeance the moment they had gotten the call from the police, almost rendering him paralyzed when he'd seen her in the hospital the first time.

The terrible slackness of her body, the pale skin marred with wounds all over, blond hair matted with bloody matter.

Déjà vu… except it was worse. It was so much worse than anything he had ever experienced.

He takes her injured hand and gives it the once over, holding it loosely in his hand.

She looked so frail… so breakable.

It's unnerving to think how easily the world could hurt her. How one stupid decision could have almost wrenched her away from them.

How was he supposed to protect her really?

"You think I am being too hard on her, don't you?" He says softly then, having felt Olivia's presence behind him, his hand still holding Etta's injured wrist, fingers tracing the blush bruise on her pale skin. He brings it up to his lips pressing a light kiss to her knuckles.

"I think you have a right to be concerned." She says taking a seat next to him. She rests her head against his shoulder.

"Concerned." He scoffs. "Liv, I am terrified. I haven't been this scared since… since anything really and a lot of scary stuff has happened to us. The thought of losing her…"

"I know." Olivia says, understanding far more than she would care to.

He sighs. "This is our only child Olivia. She is…everything. I don't care if she drops out of school or fails every class or picks up smoking or finds some awful guy or does possibly everything she can to mess up her life. I'll still be here to help her pick up the pieces and be whatever she needs me to be. But I can't… I simply can't let her think it's somehow okay to take risks with her life. She doesn't get to do that to us. I won't allow it." He whispers furiously, feeling a shudder pass through him.

"Why didn't she just call us?" He sighs in disbelief. "I mean really, what would possess her to do something so stupid? If she had … I swear I would have killed that boy with my bare hands."

"I think you'd have to get in line behind me." Olivia says evenly, intertwining her hand with his. "But you know what? She's alive and mostly intact and you don't have to continue to torture yourself like this with hypotheticals."

"That's easier said than done."

"But you have to do it. Peter." She brings a hand to his face, stroking his cheek gently. "I am worried about you. You're doing that thing where you let your anger consume you and though I know it's completely justified to be mad at Etta, do you really think it's helping her in any way…or you for that matter?"

"What's your point exactly Liv?" He asks looking at his wife with a cautious look, knowing he was about to be snared into some calm logical argument and agree to whatever she was going to ask him.

"My point is, she's been through quite an ordeal and even if you think her actions don't deserve it, she needs you to be your usual understanding self-right now and not freeze her off completely. She's been absolutely wretched all this while and almost none of it has to do with having to miss out all the fun of summer holidays or being in acute physical discomfort and pain and everything to do with the fact that he father won't talk to her….which is unusual for a sixteen year old."

"And she told you this? That she's unhappy because of me?" He asks warily, wincing slightly at the thought as his eyes come to rest on their daughter's sleeping face.

"She didn't have to." She smiles then, giving him a slightly amused look. "You know not for nothing, but I _am _Etta's mother you know. I carried her for nine months and gave birth to her and raised her, and I happen to know her pretty well, better than anyone in the world really. I know that there is nothing in the world that terrifies her more than the thought of disappointing you. I know that she can't stand it when you get mad at her, that she can't stand it even more when she can't get mad back at you because she knows she's wrong. And I know that it absolutely kills her on the inside when you shut her out like this."

"It doesn't exactly soothe my soul either." He gives her a dry smile.

"I know." Olivia nods. "Look at her. She literally wilts if she doesn't receive her daily dose of adoration from her father. It's a testament to how much you've spoilt her."

"What does that say about me?" He chuckles sadly, knowing Olivia had only stated the truth. He really spoilt Etta a good deal, giving into everything she asked, never having the will to say no to her.

If it wasn't for Olivia, she would have an outright brat by now.

"Maybe if I had been more of a stringent father, you know been stricter with her, done my job … maybe she wouldn't have just taken off …"

"Don't you dare." She cut him off sternly. "Don't you dare blame yourself for something that you couldn't have controlled or so help me I will smack some common sense into your head Bishop."

"Olivia…"

"This is not your fault." She tells him firmly. "You are not responsible for every reckless and stupid thing she has done or will do."

"That's what sucks doesn't it." He nods, burying his head in her lap. "That I can't be responsible for every stupid decision she'll make. That I can't protect her from the consequences of her stupid decisions or other people's stupid decisions for that matter. It's not fair that I have had to worry about her every living second she's been in this world without actually being able to do all that much about it and I have no power over anything, not over what could harm her, not over how I feel about her. Basically the whole thing just blows."

"I know." Olivia nods, putting her arms around him her finger carding through his hair.

"I think it's what they call being a parent."

* * *

The next day, Etta doesn't try to engage him in any conversation as he changes her bandages for her. She simply sits obediently and subdued through it all, staring at her feet, mumbling a quiet thank you after he's done.

Olivia was right he thinks… she really did seem rather wilted.

He wordlessly sits next to her, reaching for the remote as he switches on the television they'd had moved to her room, for the course of her confinement.

"There's a Celtics game on today. Thought we'd watch it." He says when he catches her eyeing him curiously. "If you feel up to it that is?"

She nods, giving him a hesitant smile, before turning her attention back to the screen.

"I'd really like that."


	78. Chapter 78

The tech is not the reason he can't get any sleep.

He doesn't sleep anymore because every time he closes his eyes, he dreams of her.

He always finds himself in the same place. A beautiful meadow by a lake, and he sees her there, his little girl, amidst a field of wild flowers, in a white dress, her blond hair loose, strands flying in the light breeze.

The sky is bluer in his dream, and so are her eyes, as she looks at him from a distance, clutching a dandelion with one hand and reaching out to him with another, beckoning him with a smile that was innocent and impish at the same time.

She's always so close but he can never reach her, every time he holds out his hand to clasp her own chubby outstretched palm, she disappears.

And just like that he finds himself back in the warehouse.

Except it's not the young woman but his three year old he sees there, lying there with that horrible slackness in her body, her white dress bloody and her eyes open… lifeless.

He screams in desperation, but there's no sound. He pulls her into his arms and shakes her again and again, calling out her name, urging her to wake up.

There's always so much blood and it's all over his hands, and he wakes up gasping in horror, stumbling his way to the bathroom as the bile rises upwards his throat and he throws up, till his trachea burns from the acid and there's nothing left in his system as he heaves dryly.

He scrubs his palms with soap under scalding hot water till they bleed, but he can't stop seeing the splotches of blood.

Some days, he simply watches from a distance, thinking if he lied to himself enough, then he could believe it's true.

"It's beautiful here isn't it?" He hears a soft voice speak up and he finds her sitting next to her. She smiles at him, her grin slightly crooked, eyes reflecting the sky.

He forgets really… how much of him was half of her.

But he doesn't want her here, not this Etta. Not the one who died and left him to live in this unforgiving world.

"You're not real." He shakes his head turning his gaze back to the little girl playing at a distance.

She looks so happy, he thinks.

"Is any of this real?" She shrugs, before looking at him with a curious expression. "Does it matter if I am real?"

"No…. I guess it doesn't." He shakes his hand, still refusing to meet her gaze. "But you don't belong here."

"You're angry with me?" She says in an amused tone.

"You left us." He says simply, turning to look at her. "You left me."

"I could never leave you." She gives him a sad smile. "You know that."

"He took you from me…. I lost you."

"No, you didn't lose me." She shakes her head. "Not yet at least. But you'll lose me if you forget."

"Forget what?"

"What makes you human." She says simply.

He doesn't say anything, going back to watch the little girl playing.

If he doesn't try to reach for her, she doesn't go away and this way he can still see her at least.

"I am doing this for you, you know." He says after a few moments have passed.

Not that time has any real meaning in this place.

"Is that what you tell yourself?" She looks at him with a knowing smile.

"I have to do this, it's the only way. I can't beat them without doing this. You have to understand that." His voice is firm, like he was trying to convince himself.

"See that girl over there. She thinks the world of you. You're her hero, the one who makes everything better. You never needed to be anything except her father for her to believe in you."

"I let you die. So much for a hero." He shrugs.

"You were not responsible for what happened."

"Is that what I should tell myself?" He gives her a humorless smile but she doesn't smile back.

She looks worried, concerned, eyes rife with a pain that no on so young should ever know.

God…. she looks like Olivia…

"Don't you see?" There's a quiet desperation in her voice. "I don't want to leave you. But you won't be able to hold onto me for much longer if you don't turn back from here."

"I can't…" He shakes his head.

"Dad… please."

"Don't call me that." He's sharp, curt even. "You're not real and you don't get to call me that."

"Daddy please…you have to stop. There's another way."

"No there isn't… I am doing this for you." He repeats, the cadence of his voice turning flat, almost robotic.

She shakes her head unhappily, holding out her hand to his cheek, like she had done in the warehouse before she had died.

Her touch is barely there, and yet it feels incredibly real. More real than anything Peter has felt in days.

"You have to hold onto me….I am the part of you that you have to hold onto. Or else…" She smiles, an immeasurable sadness in her expression.

He gasps, waking up.

He doesn't go back to sleep again.

* * *

The day Walter disappears, Etta has the first nightmare.

Like most things with her daughter, Olivia knows something is wrong even before that.

Something hasn't been right the whole day. Something she's been trying to ignore with little success. That disquieting feeling she has carried home with her from the park that stayed with her

Peter was at the lab, having rushed there after receiving the strange letter from Walter, while she had stayed with Etta at home. She has been strangely reluctant to let her child out of her sight since they'd gotten back and even after Peter had called her with the news that Walter was nowhere to be found, she couldn't find it in herself to rush to the lab like she would have any other day.

Etta was for most part well-adjusted to their erratic work schedules by now and was generally a very independent child. But she had been unusually clingy today, unwilling to be separated from Olivia for even just a little bit. If she hadn't been busy playing in her bath, Olivia doesn't think she would have never let Peter leave the house without throwing a major tantrum. She'd seen how genuinely upset Etta had gotten to learn of his absence, demanding that her mother call him and ask him to come home immediately.

It had taken a lot of persuasion but she had finally gotten her to sleep, on the condition of course, that Etta be allowed to sleep in their bed instead of in her own room.

Worried as she had been about her odd behavior, Olivia hadn't thought much about it, too concerned about Walter. She waits by the phone anxiously for Peter's calls, trying to help him in whatever way she can, hating herself for not going to him, when it sounds like he clearly needed her.

But something tells her… she needs to be here.

It a little over 2:00, when next to her, Etta starts fidgeting agitatedly in her sleep, moaning softly.

She immediately lays a hand over her forehead like she did when Etta had trouble sleeping, in an attempt to soothe her daughter, but it doesn't work and within seconds her distress seems to escalate.

"Mommy…" She calls out in a helpless…almost broken way. "Mommy no…"

"Sweetheart, it's okay." Olivia whispers, running a hand through her hair, as she gently tries to nudge her awake. "I am right here."

"Mommy... noooo..." This time she screams.

Olivia panics, shaking her harder now to get her to wake up, as she begins to scream louder and louder, calling for Peter now.

"Etta, honey, please wake up. You're having a bad dream." She gathers her daughter in her arms, aware of the fact that she was shaking violently in her embrace.

As if in a daze, Etta's eyes open, unfocussed, moving erratically before they settle on her mother's face.

She stares silently for a second, and then bursts into a fit of uncontrollable tears.

* * *

About five minutes after, Olivia picks up the phone and calls Peter.

"I need you to come home." She says without preamble.

"Olivia…I am trying to…"

"Peter now." She says firmly, leaving no room for negotiation, her voice betraying only the slightest tremble that was racking her entire body.

"Sshh baby. It's okay. Daddy will be here soon." She turns then to her daughter, stroking her hair gently, as Etta continues to cry relentlessly.

"Daddy will be here very soon." She says desperately.

The moment she realized Peter was not here, Etta had completely lost it, babbling incoherently. She had cried even harder, if it were possible, demanding to see him right then and nothing Olivia would say seemed to register in her mind at all. She had then wriggled out of her grasp and run blindly around the house, calling for him, and to Olivia's horror then tripped and fallen over the last couple of stairs in her disoriented frenzy to get downstairs, landing on the floor in a crumpled heap. With her momentum broken, she then simply stayed still, sobbing in the most devastating way.

With her heart in her mouth, Olivia had made her way down the stairs as fast as she could, taking her daughter into her arms, swiftly checking for any injury, before carrying her over to the living room couch. After having bundled her securely in a throw blanket, and holding her extra tight just in case she tried to run away again she reached for the phone, scared out of her mind at this point, knowing instinctively that Peter needed to be here.

The twelve minutes she knows it takes to get from the lab to their home feels longer than usual, as she paces in the living room around anxiously with her daughter in her arms, making more attempts to calm her down, none of which seemed to be working.

She nearly feels lightheaded with relief when Peter finally walks in through the front door. In those wordless moments of communication they have become so adept at over the years, he follows her gaze to the nearly hysterical child she was holding, his eyes widening at the sight.

"What happened?" He looks at her with a shocked expression, as he hurries over to where she was sitting. Hearing the sound of her father's voice, Etta turns to look at him them, looking relieved and distraught at the same time to see him, before launching herself at him with so much force, that Peter almost loses his balance.

He shares a rather frazzled look with Olivia before turning his attention back to the inconsolable little girl who had climbed into his arms by now.

"Hey what's wrong kiddo? What's the matter huh?' Peter says gently, letting her hold onto him as tightly as she wished, disregarding the way her knees were jabbing rather painfully into his stomach.

"Daddy…" Etta sniffles putting her arms around him so tightly, that Peter could feel her little finger nails digging into the flesh at his nape. She was holding him to the point of constriction. "I got lost. I got lost and you were gone. You were gone daddy. You left me." She repeats, almost in an accusing, angry voice. There is a helpless frustration in her body movements as she brings her hands to his chest, hitting him with curled up fists that did little to hurt him, before clinging to him once again like her life depended on it.

"I didn't go anywhere. You're not lost honey." Peter says soothingly, meeting Olivia's confused and worried expression. "You're at home… see…with us. We're right here." He tries to pry away her face which was burrowed into his chest tightly, trying to see her, but she doesn't let go, simply bursting into new tears.

"I got lost daddy…"

"Sweetheart, it's okay." He whispers, rubbing soothing circles on her back, as she literally shakes in his embrace, finding it extremely difficult to bear her distress. "You're safe now."

"You're safe now." He tells her again and again for a little over half an hour, till her sobs subside and she finally succumbs to exhaustion and falls asleep in his arms, her hold never once loosening up.

"What was that about?" Peter looks at Olivia with a perplexed expression after they go upstairs and he settles her back in bed.

She shakes her head, wiping away the wet tracts on her daughter's now puffy red cheeks, reaching for a tissue from the nightstand to clean up her nose. She then presses a kiss to her forehead grimacing as she feels the unhealthy warmth of her skin.

"I have no idea." Olivia whispers shakily, wondering what could possibly have caused Etta so much grief. "She just started screaming in her sleep and she kept calling for you and she was just….God Peter, she was in so much pain and shock. I didn't know what to do."

"She must have had an awful nightmare." He says grimly, putting a hand on her shoulder, realizing only then just how unnerved Olivia was, focused as he has been on taking care of Etta.

"It's fine Liv. It's over now." He tells her in a reassuring voice.

Olivia doesn't believe him.

* * *

Etta has strange dreams.

Not that most people don't. Dreams are rarely sensible.

But her dreams are strange because they feel real.

She dreams of a park all the time, of standing in the middle of utter chaos, all of three years old while a building behind her disappears.

In her dream, she waits, frozen and scared for her father to come get her, her mother running towards them, before a startling white light blinds her and she finds herself standing alone in the park.

At first there are only images…

The skies are greyer in those, the sun never out. A bleaker, darker Boston, almost in ruins. Their home looted, abandoned, her nursery in shambles… her parents' bedroom ransacked, a bullet in a matchbox.

She dreams a lot about being alone. A home that's not hers, but one that feels familiar, like she's lived there before. A couple whom she doesn't recognize but who feel like family.

Her parents are never there.

More than anything… she feels their absence viscerally. It's a horrible feeling, like a void in her heart that won't close.

As a little girl, for a long time, anytime she had one of the dreams, she would jolt awake in the middle of the night, with a burning need to see them, to be near them.

To not be alone…

Tossing aside her blankets, she'd run to their room and climb into their bed without a second thought and curl up against her mother

Her mother would put a snug arm around her and pull her trembling form close to her chest, giving her a understanding smile and a look…like she just knew the feeling that was racking her body in that overwhelming urge to be close to her.

"It's okay baby… it's just a bad dream. You're okay now." She would whisper kissing her forehead. Etta would simply nod and take her still sleeping father's hand (he was always better at sleeping through disruptions than her mother), clasping it firmly with both her tiny palms, holding onto it for dear life. She would tuck it under her chin and close her eyes tight, breathing in slowly, inhaling the comforting intermingled scents of her parents, feeling warm and secure between them. She would gradually feel her fear leave her and give into sleep again.

She would get unusually clingy in the mornings that followed these episodes, anxious somehow to have her parents in her sight always, spending most of the day subdued and quiet, usually in her father's arms or on his lap. His touch was the most reassuring thing in the world to Etta. It could sooth her in an instant… like it did for her mother.

Her parents seemed to understand this inexplicable apprehension, because they always found ways to reassure her with hugs that longer and tighter, and more kisses than usual.

Now that she's older, she doesn't rush to their room anymore and bury her head under the covers. But sometimes, she'll sneak in and just watch them sleeping, for a minute or two.

It's almost like she needs to see them to convince herself they were right there. That the world of her dreams hadn't come true and she hadn't woken up to find them gone.

Her dad had sat her down once and taught her to condition herself against remembering her dreams so that she didn't feel like there was a black cloud hanging over her all day whenever she had those particular dreams, but it hadn't helped yet.

_Please don't dream tonight…please don't dream tonight…_

She tells herself sternly every night for years.

She's twenty four when she's finally able to forget.


	79. Chapter 79

It's a quiet evening as Rachel begins to cut the pumpkin pie into slices. She surveys her surroundings with satisfaction. Her sister at the dining table, playing scrabble with her kids, her husband at his usual post-thanksgiving spot on the couch watching football.

Her eyes come to rest on Peter on the armchair with Etta on his lap, patiently smiling and nodding as she flipped through a picture book in her hand and pointed to things, chattering to him about something, even as her eyelids had begun to droop and one could see how sleepy she was. She's unable to help a smile as she catches sight of one of Etta's chubby hands resolutely holding onto Peter's sweater sleeve in a tight fist.

Her niece has been especially clingy of Peter off late; she contemplates as she doles out the pie into plates for everyone, counting the number of slices of pie in her head.

There are three extra slices she frowns, trying to account for the discrepancy. Nina's away in Tokyo this year and Walter always had two slices…with loads of whipped cream.

Except there's no Walter, she remembers. No Walter with his idiosyncrasies making everyone at the table laugh, and Greg look like he'd swallowed curdled milk.

Rachel had been hesitant to do a big dinner this year with Walter's disappearance looming over Olivia's family. They'd been distraught for weeks now. It hadn't seemed right, but Liv had been enthusiastic for the invite, even grateful.

"I want things to go back to normal Rach… for Etta." She'd said anxiously.

Things haven't been easy on her little niece lately. Not to mention the shock and bewilderment of losing her dear grandfather without an explanation, but she'd been having terrible nightmares which left her in tears almost every other night… almost to the point of hysteria. Olivia had been worried sick, every time they spoke on the phone, troubled about her daughter on top of her concern for Peter's deteriorating emotional state.

That's why Etta's been reluctant to let Peter out of sight for too long, Olivia had told her when they'd been talking earlier. The poor thing was scared out of her wits that her father would somehow disappear on her without a trace like Walter did.

After all if daddy could lose his dad, what was to stop her losing hers?

You couldn't really reason with a three year old's fears.

He looks like a ghost of his former self, Rachel thinks as she takes in Peter's gaunt appearance, the pain in his eyes that he seemed to be trying so hard to hide for Etta's sake as he reads the book with her, even as his arms have begun an imperceptible rocking motion in the hopes of lulling the sleepy child into a nap.

Rachel thinks about the first time she sees Peter.

Standing there outside Logan, with an oddly familiar smile, hands in the pockets of his pea coat and dark blue vintage jeans that clothed sinfully, lean, long legs, looking not a smidgen out of depth while her sister busies herself with the bundle of brown hair and pink parka that was her daughter.

Her sister, she of the meaningful silences and restrained demeanor … beaming, radiant, pregnant and almost _coy?_

It'd be enough to make Rachel do a double take on any given day, but she dismisses the pod person that seems to have replaced her sibling, letting her marvel at her son like she was laying eyes on him for the first time and shifts her scrutiny to Peter who greets her with warm but studied courtesy.

She likes him of course (Rachel doubts there was ever a moment in his life that Peter Bishop was unliked). He's charming, intelligent, an instant hit with her kids and really… ever so easy on the eye.

And not to mention the fact for the first time since she could remember her sister didn't look like she was haunted, like she'd been freed of the ghosts of her past and had finally found that missing piece of her heart. That she seemed genuinely happy about him and the baby.

She likes him, she decides.

But she doesn't trust him. Not yet anyway. Nothing added up. If his sudden appearance in Olivia and Walter's lives (she didn't even know the crazy man Olivia worked with had a son) and the dubious story she is presented about how he got here wasn't enough to make her suspicious, there was the very unolivia like manner in which her sister seemed to have jumped into bed with him, moved in together and then gotten herself happily knocked up, all in a matter of three months.

But it's really them, the way they were with each other, that made her question the breakneck romance story she'd been fed.

There's none of the spontaneity or newness that people in a new, fledgling relationship should be exhibiting. None of the awkwardness. If anything, they look comfortable, too comfortable in each other's company, like two individuals who'd been through a lifetime or two together.

She doesn't like the feeling that some man, no matter how startling the blue of his eyes or how genuine the love in them, can just waltz into Olivia's world and act like he's been there all her life while her sister seems to have turned into a stranger she can't say she really knows anymore.

No she doesn't like it at all… and while she's happy for Olivia and confident that she wasn't headed for heartbreak, she's cautious and the feelings of unease that Peter Bishop stirs in her don't go away.

Not until Etta that is.

It's curious Rachel thinks, that its her niece who ultimately swings the vote in his favor and not her sister or her more than obvious love for the man in her life.

Or maybe it's not really. Maybe it makes perfect sense. Good fathers are admittedly not part of her cultural capital, despite how many nights Olivia sat up with her as a child, holding a picture of a man in a uniform and telling her wonderful stories about a perfect family and a kind and loving daddy who made everything better, who painted doors red for good luck and tucked them in at night and who was everything that they didn't have anymore.

It was a frugal bank of memories that Olivia held onto with a stubborn mettle and no matter how many times she recanted them to her, they always rang false and hollow to Rachel. They were not her memories after all, and they didn't resonate in the slightest with what she'd come to understand about fathers, of cruel and unfeeling men who terrorized her sister and her were responsible for the bruises on her mother's face.

The man in the uniform always remained a stranger… a reminder of joyful memories past for her sister maybe, but always a cruel fantasy as far as she was concerned, a phantom of another time and place that didn't make the present any better and definitely gave no hope for the future, raising expectations without ever meeting them.

And so Rachel does what she can to cope, and learns to negotiate parenthood without expecting anyone to fill that role, first for herself and later for her kids. She understands Greg's limitations and has made peace with them a long time ago. Her husband, for all his faults (and god knows Olivia could list them all), is a good man, she tells herself. He loved her and their children, she knows, and will always provide for them, take care of their needs and ensure they wanted for nothing, even if he is admittedly inept at actually showing them that he cares for them.

And so Rachel plays games and reads books at bedtime and helps with homework and plans activities and play dates while Greg writes checks.

She's fine with that, fathers are overrated, she thinks.

Until Etta that is.

It should be ridiculous to be envious of a little child, a child she loved as dearly and fiercely as her own kids. But Etta has something she never had, something that makes her finally understand why Olivia holds onto those shreds of memories with such determination.

She watches Peter as he carefully reaches for the throw blanket on the couch without disturbing the now asleep Etta and gently tucks it around her, a gentle, almost serene smile on his lips, the pain in his eyes receding for a moment as he places a loving kiss on her forehead.

Rachel remembers then, what finally made her really trust Peter Bishop.

Etta had her father's love and maybe that's not such a bad thing after all, she thinks.


	80. Chapter 80

"Daddy…"

A puff of small air blows into his left ear as he registers Etta's stage whisper somewhere in the abyss of his semi-conscious mind.

He ignores it easily and tries to go back to the nonsensical dream he was in the middle of, when he feels small hands at his chin, prodding him none too subtly.

"Daddy…" It's a little more insistent this time and he cracks open one eyelid followed by the other, as the fuzzy image of his daughter comes into focus. She's sitting on the pillow next to him, in her white shift, her long blond hair sleep tousled, regarding him with a slightly impatient expression. The summer sunlight is already pouring in from the windows and her hair catches the rays making them gleam.

Behind her, he can see Olivia still asleep, turned away from him.

"Etta…" He yawns through her name, struggling to come out of the lull his mind and body were still in, squinting as the warmth of the morning hits his eyes.

"What is it honey?" He asks, throwing a quick glance at his alarm clock which told him it was only 5:45 am. "What are you doing up so early?"

"Sun's up." She shrugs; looking at him like it was obvious.

"I know." He nods chuckling sleepily, bringing his hand up to her hair, ruffling it uncoordinatedly, as he closes his eyes once again. "Doesn't mean we have to be up as well. It's Saturday. We get to sleep in."

"But we're going to the beach today." She says, shaking him as she clambers onto his bare chest. "Wake up daddy. We have to go."

"We can't go yet." He shakes his head, voice sleep laden, eyes still closed.

"Why not?"

"It's too early."

"When can we go then?" She sighs, and he can picture the pout she's sure to be wearing.

"In a while." He says vaguely.

Naturally, his response doesn't satisfy her. "How long is a while?" She asks then.

"It's a while…" he manages to mumble, feeling his eyelids literally drag with exhaustion.

God he was spent, in every sense of the word. His back hadn't stopped aching since the beginning of the year and his joints cracked noisily at the slightest motions.

Seems like he had gotten to that point finally where the baggage of his work had started weighing on him physically. After all battling a monster a week does get to a guy eventually, more so when you add the constant running around after an overactive toddler.

"Daddeee…." He can hear Etta whine now, the connotation of her use of the word always communicating far more than any actual sentences could.

"We'll go after breakfast okay." He sighs, knowing very well that he only had a glorious fifteen minutes of sleep to look forward to, twenty if he got lucky and Etta got distracted by something shiny.

"Your dad needs a little more rest and a lot of coffee before he can take you anywhere." He says then.

"Hmm…okay." She says in a somewhat disappointed voice, then huffing like she'd been given the worst punishment in the world. "I'll wait."

He opens his eyes to see her, chewing her lower lip contemplatively and he smiles.

"How about you get some more sleep as well, so you don't get tired later on." He tells her, pulling her closer to him.

"M'not sleepy anymore." She shakes her head in emphasis even as she settles herself on his chest comfortably and lets him pull up the blankets over the both of them.

"Sure you're not." He says agreeably, knowing it would be only be a matter of minutes before she fell asleep, having woken up way before her usual time.

"I tried to wake up mommy. But she wouldn't wake up." She tells him then as he begins to stroke her hair gently.

"Mommy's very worn-out." He tells her, his hand tightening on her back as he remembers the events of the previous day, his jawline narrowing into a grimace. His eyes drift towards Olivia's sleeping form. It was unnatural for her to be sleeping so soundly, especially given how disruptive their daughter was being in the moment.

But the day they'd had had left her drained physically and emotionally. It had ben horrifying, what they'd had to see yesterday.

The body of the little girl no older than five, bloodied. Her eyes had been open when they'd found her, a placid shade of blue, as they stared back at the ceiling, her lifeless form lying on the floor of the warehouse.

He'd worked alongside Olivia for almost eight years and never once in that whole time had he seen her react the way she had when they'd encountered that sight, even if technically it was far more benign than some of the other things they'd witnesses. She had looked visibly shell shocked and there had been a tremble in her voice when she spoke. Even though she had maintained an impressive calm in the presence of the other agents, she had completely broken down once they'd gotten home, crying for almost an hour as he tried in vain to calm her down.

_"Can you imagine what her mother must be going through?" _ She had asked him with a tortured expression on her face, as she cried, till she finally couldn't anymore.

"I don't know if it's worth it anymore." He remembers her broken whisper, her vacant stare as she looked right through him.

"What is?"

"Any of it."

"Mommy can wake up after breakfast." Etta says with an understanding nod that apparently she didn't think her father deserved. "When we're ready to go to the beach."

He smiles, snapping out his memories.

"I am not sure she feels up to it sweetheart. Mommy has had a hard week and she'd probably just like to rest at home." He tells her, knowing that recreation would be the last thing on Olivia's mind right about now. There was really no point in dragging her out of the house and forcing her to enjoy the day when she was feeling so low.

"But… she promised." She pouts unhappily, looking none too pleased with what he was telling her.

"I know." He nods. "I know you're disappointed but we have to think about mom don't we? I'll still take you though okay?" He tells her in an assuring voice, as he sees the tell- tale signs of a frown making their way to her lips.

"Take you where?" A soft voice interrupts them as he turns to Olivia's direction where she was regarding them both with a small, sleepy smile.

"To the beach." Etta promptly tells her before moving to lay a hand on her cheek, patting it softly. "You can stay at home and rest…it's okay mommy. Daddy says you don't feel very good and don't want to go anywhere. "

"Is that what daddy said?" She asks, giving Peter a meaningful look.

"Well he's obviously wrong because there's nothing that would make me feel better than spending time with you."

"I knew you would come. You promised" Etta smiles radiantly, giving her father a chastising shake of her head for being so presumptuous before sliding off his chest towards her mother with all the grace and dexterity that comes with being four. With a contended sigh, she closes her eyes, yawning sleepily, leaving both her overworked, under rested parents awake and unable to go back to sleep.

"It's amazing how she can just wake us up at the crack of dawn and then happily go back to sleep herself." Olivia looks at him with an amused smile after a couple of minutes, watching Etta bury her head into the pillow.

"Yeah." He chuckles. "Doesn't parenthood just get better and better?" He then looks at her carefully, not unaware of the puffy cheeks or red rimmed eyes, or the drained, wan expression on her face the way in which Etta was.

"Liv, you sure about this."

Despite her smile, he could see how completely not okay she was.

"Yes I am sure." She nods, enfolding Etta into her embrace from under the mountain of blankets.

"You don't have to do this you know. I can take her." He reaches out to hold her hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. She squeezes back, not saying anything.

"Olivia…"

"I know you can and yes I have to do this."

"Because you promised?"

"No… because I remembered."

"What?"

She shrugs, watching him with an unreadable expression.

"Why it's worth it."


End file.
